


growing flowers in the city

by C_A



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bathing/Washing, Continuity What Continuity, Debt, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Oracles, Other, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Prophetic Visions, Prostitution, Sticky Sexual Interfacing Implied, robot food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_A/pseuds/C_A
Summary: The All-Seeing receives a vision, and Rodimus must see it through.





	growing flowers in the city

Standing at the crossroads of GH1 and 765, he wondered why the All-Seeing could give him a location but not a name. Eying the filthy surroundings, he also wondered if he shouldn't have brought a guard or two. But for all he knew, that might just scare his 'target' away.

_'You'll know them when you see them' my aft, lady. There's no way this place is up to standard._

Rodimus Prime bent and creased the foil the old femme had handed him before drifting away with her... attendants? Devotees? Students? He actually had no idea what the bots that followed her from the temple actually were. He now guessed at why she almost never came down to mingle with those living in the main building; she was _obtuse_ and _irritating_.

_'Someone most important to you'. How do we know she wasn't bribed by some weirdo wanting to get in good with me?_

Not that that would have kept him away. Nyon had been a mess, but it was nothing compared to the dregs that made up the Dead End. Odd scents pervaded the air; old oils and purged fuel. Those that had enough energy to drive left acidic smoke in their wake, revealing how contaminated their consumables were. It was worse than the worst parts of Nyon, and that made him more than a bit sympathetic to it. He'd pushed the discussion on how to actually tackle the disaster area up as much as he could, but other issues had priority.

Now was not for politics, however. Now was for finding a person, one whose face, altmode, or designation he lacked even the slightest bit of information about. At the address stood a building with bars over its windows and door and a small sign advertising "entertainment" in neon-pink. Even if he'd never had much before... well, _before_ , he'd never been so badly off that he needed to run to a place like this to get by.

_It'll probably be worse inside._

It was.

The reception area, if it could be called that, wasn't so terrible. It was fairly clean and only a few mystery stains visibly dotted the floor, which was obviously painted-over concrete. The smell, however, was overwhelming. Outside it stank of contamination and pollution, but inside he could pick up old transfluid, the barely detectable taste-feel of unspent charge, and purged energon. It was misery inducing.

He'd been wrong. This wasn't a place you went to, it was a place you _ended up._

"How can I help you, sir?"

The mech at the main desk offered a benign smile, which quickly disappeared once Rodimus turned to face him. "Hey."

"Prime!" The smile was back, but it seemed uneasy. "What, ah, brings you to my business?"

_Yeah right. This place is definitely illegal. Prowl's gonna nail your aft to the wall._ Still, he smiled the old smile he'd used to make people let him into their bar after he'd been thrown out already. Rodimus Prime shouldn't know mechs like him, but Hot Rod could recognize them a mechamile away. "What brings anyone here? What brings _everyone_ here?"

He could see the cogs turning behind the pale green optics, and then - like all good opportunists - the mech smiled. "Of course! Right. What a silly question."

Disgusting. "You wouldn't happen to have a way for me to see them before I choose, would you?"

_Lady, you better be right._

"'Course I do. We do everything we can to ensure our customer's satisfaction." With that, the mech slid a datapad that looked like it'd been dropped one too many times across the desk.

Rodimus felt anxiety start to prickle at the wires in his shoulders and hands, as if someone were standing right behind him, silently judging. Was this how the religious Tower mechs felt when they went to confession? Doing his best to concentrate, he poked the little power button and was relieved when two rows of photos popped up. Five bots in total, two femmes and three mechs. He'd been worried the pictures would be more inappropriate than mere headshots.

"This one's spike only, I must add," he said, and tapped the picture of a blue femme staring resolutely at the camera. Rodimus had no idea if he meant she was a valve-only mech and that he could only spike her, or that she was only capable of spiking him.

Not her, he thought, with more than a little regret. He was definitely going to report this place to Prowl, once he got out of here. He leaned over the datapad and determinedly traced every feature of the bots he could. This was important. Despite her vague advice, the All-Seeing, Land-Splitter, Throat of a Thousand Voices and a bunch of other nonsense titles he didn't know the meaning of was _important_. She didn't come down to advise the Prime, or anyone else, because she was feeling bored.

The other femme was a very pale yellow, and the color would have been nice if it wasn't starting to peel. The mech next to her was purple and dingy white with sun-yellow optics, one of which had a crack going through it. The next mech was older and mostly gray, age and ill-care beginning to show in his face. The last one was...

He tapped the picture and a name with a few specs popped up.

"Drift! He's quite popular, least with the regulars. Been here maybe half a vorn. A speedframe, if you're into that."

He was a mess. His paint job was the least of it; his optics were dim and unfocused, cracks littered his face and Rodimus could only guess what the rest of him would look like.

_You'll know them when you see them._

Damn it.

"He doesn't look too healthy, are you sure he's got the... stamina?" He asked, internally wincing at the last word.

"Oh, that's an old picture. He used to do Syk, boosters, all sorts of stuff but he's much better now. Clean, if you're worried about that. He's well-built and can take quite a bit of rough handling - I imagine."

_You slimy old fuck._ "Him, then. How much?"

"Two hundred every cycle."

Primus, that was cheap! He nodded and typed in his information before transferring two hundred shanix to the listed account. He probably should have brought some loose shanix for smaller purchases but honestly hadn't thought he'd need it. "Fine. Awesome." He caught a pair of old-style keys tossed to him.

"Room 5. Enjoy your time, Rodimus Prime."

_Hope you enjoy your time in jail._

The hallway snaked around from the right of the reception area, leading to a stairway that wound back over itself. Upstairs the smell grew worse, and while he'd dreaded overhearing anything it was perfectly silent. Maybe it was an off-hour and they were all in recharge. There were five rooms on each side of the hallway, each numbered with old paint. Room five was all the way at the end of the hall, right across from room ten. He fit the key with a little '5' scratched on it into the old lock and the door swung open on shiny new hinges.

Rodimus clenched the keys in his fist as his plating flattened down. Drift, pale and washed out in the dim light, was curled up in recharge on his side. He looked around the same size as Rodimus, and the red mech stared at one long leg hanging off the side of the berth. One step inside the room lead to a soft click of his pedes, and the white mech jerked awake, scrambling into a sitting position.

He winced. "Drift? Hey. I'm - "

"A customer."

Rodimus hummed an affirmative, and checked that no one else had followed him before shutting the door. "Yeah, I guess so." He dropped the keys onto the small dresser near the door and crossed over to Drift, making sure to go slow and telegraph his movements. "Can I sit down?"

The desk mech hadn't been lying, exactly; Drift's face and helm still had a few cracks, but they'd been patched a bit and his gaze was more aware than it had been in the picture. He shrugged and scooted over half a length. "Yes."

_He doesn't recognize me._ It was almost funny - everyone recognized him when he went out on the streets - but he realized that someone in Drift's condition probably didn't get out much or care about politics. He took a seat, close enough to reach but with just enough space left that Drift hopefully wouldn't feel crowded.

"What do you want? If you've only got a cycle, we should get started."

With no direction to go, he defaulted to small-talk. "Can I see your hand?" Drift offered his with no question or comment, and Rodimus pulled it into his lap so he could comfortably cradle it in his own. The fingers were of average width and length, neither thick like bots who worked in manual labor or security nor thin like those who worked with data all day. There was a chip on the end of his index, and Rodimus rubbed at it, feeling his face begin to warm as he searched for something to say. "How did you end up here?"

Drift shifted on the berth, but didn't take his hand away. "Lost a bunch of credits to some dealers. Tried to pay them back with gambling and stuff but I just made it worse. Slipshod bought my debt so here I am."

Rodimus felt a little rush of vindication. Buying debts for work like prostitution had been declared illegal almost fifty vorns ago. Higher end businesses that sold pleasure companions were legally obligated to adhere to very rigorous standards; physical and mental health, fueling them if they lived on the premises, making sure none of the customers abused them, and generally making sure they had control over who their customers actually were. The mechs and femmes who worked in such places did so because they, for whatever reason, wanted to. They wrote up contracts that had to be looked over by a third-party legal representative and the employee was allowed to leave the job at any time. Buying a debt was the alternative to a contract for many types of work, as it was supposed to have built-in protections.

For most occupations, it was fine. The bot bought the debt of another from a third party, like a loans agency or a bank, and the mech or femme would receive training and benefits while they worked to pay it back. Once they had, the two would work out if they would continue working there or move on. Buying debts typically wasn't in and of itself illegal, but for prostitution it had been decided that the bots in question were overwhelmingly of a population considered vulnerable and therefore easy to take advantage of; drug addicts, chronic gamblers, bots who had slipped through the cracks and ended up on the streets, abuse victims who'd left home to hide from their abusers and had ended up with no home at all...

He knew there were similar laws for certain construction and manual labor jobs, with various restrictions peppered around the rest. It was to prevent mechs like Slipshod from burying bots under even more debt to keep them working in terrible conditions, typically by piling on extra charges for room and board.

"He said you'd been here for half a vorn? Does that - "

"Look." Drift pulled his hand free, now looking uncomfortable. "You paid for a full cycle, right? I... if you run out of time and didn't get what you wanted, he's not going to give you another for free. What do you want? Do you want me on my back? On my knees?"

Primus, now Rodimus was uncomfortable too. "Okay, look, this is gonna sound really weird but what if I told you I came here to pay your debt off? Would that be okay?"

"You can't pay my debt off," Drift replied, unimpressed. "I don't know if you're a courier or a racer, but it's still too high for someone like you."

He couldn't help but laugh in the other mech's face, too caught off-guard by the bluntness. "You're - holy frag, that's funny." He studied the closed off body language, still snickering.

"Don't laugh," Drift snapped, and if possible seemed to grow smaller.

Instantly, he sobered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean I was laughing at you, I - but I meant it when I said I came here to pay your debt and see if you'd come with me."

Drift did not uncurl from his guarded position. "I'm telling you, you can't. I don't even know how much I owe anymore."

"Doesn't matter."

"Why did you come here for me? And take me where?"

"Mmmm. It's a funny story. I don't think you'll believe me unless I show you some proof. But I promise I'm not here to hurt you and, well," he waved his hand around the small room. "Do you _want_ to stay here?"

The white mech tilted his head at him, biting the edge of a torn lip. He wondered how it happened, and made a note to call for Ratchet as soon as possible. "You won't have enough," he sighed, but it sounded resigned. "But you can ask. Do you want to right now, or - "

"Yes." Rodimus jumped to his pedes and held out a hand. "Let's go. This place is gross and I want a shower."

Drift stared at his outstretched hand, a little sadly, and Rodimus squashed the urge to reach out and pull the battered frame into a hug. He didn't like to think it was influenced by what the All-Seeing had said. It was normal to feel sympathetic towards someone like Drift in such an awful situation. Even more so when, instead of looking hopeful or happy, he just looked miserable, as if he already knew Rodimus would change his mind once the amount of debt was known.

Well, joke's on him. Rodimus had a gold currency card that he still needed to break in.

Slipshod looked surprised to see him before the cycle was up, and shot a rather ugly look Drift's way. "Something I can help you with, sir?"

"Actually, there is. I would like to pay off the remainder of Drift's debt so that he may leave with me, if you don't mind."

Slipshod's brow ridge lifted, leaving his optics as perfect little circles in his face. "I - I mean, well, of course, I just... " His gaze slid over to Drift again, less aggressive and more stunned. "Must have had a good time," he rambled and pulled a different datapad from behind the counter. "His debt is currently twenty three thousand and sixty-six shanix."

He'd bet his fuel pump that Drift hadn't started out with _nearly_ that much debt. "Cool." Drift's head snapped up so quickly he heard a gear squeak in protest, but Rodimus slid the card across the counter with serene aplomb. While Slipshod fumbled with the card, he allowed himself to aim a smile Drift's way. "Is there anything you need to get before we leave?"

Drift shook his head no, still looking more than a little shocked.

"Awesome." He snatched the card back and tucked it away in his subspace before finally taking Drift's hand into his own. "Let's go. I"m hungry and I bet you are too."

Drift didn't say anything. He followed in docile silence, not taking his hand back, and shot Rodimus questioning looks between scrutinizing their surroundings. It was still the middle of the solar cycle, since he'd set off in the early morning. Even with the sun high, the Dead End was not very populated, which was probably for the best with how flashy he looked and how scuffed up Drift was.

Eventually, Drift couldn't handle the uncertainty. "Where are you taking me?"

"My place. It's pretty big and nice, I think you'll like it." He bit down on a grin. "You _still_ don't recognize me, do you?"

"Do we know each other?"

"Nah. My face shows up on TV a lot, though."

Drift tipped his head to the side, optics cycling a few times. "Are you... famous?"

He snickered. "Yeah. You could say that."

The white mech slowed a little, and his words grew a bit more cautious. "You're not a criminal, are you?"

"Pffft. No. Mech, you really gotta get out more. Catch a newsreel every so often." He tugged at his hand, and sure enough the other started walking again. Primus, the walk back would take forever but he really didn't want to take Drift on any public transportation in his condition. "What're your fuel levels at?"

"Forty-six percent."

Not as bad as it could have been. "Okay, we're headed to the heart of Iacon. Can you transform and follow me, or not?"

"I _can_. Not sure if I _should_."

Well, it was good to see a little spinal strut from the other. "I mean, we could _walk_ the entire way and hope no one bothers us instead."

Drift yanked his hand back. Rodimus turned in uncertainty, wondering if the other was going to bolt, but he just dropped into his transformation instead. _Dropped_ , because his body seemed to want to hit the ground, and the rapid twisting frame parts barely kept him from taking a face-full of cement. The young Prime made a few appreciative noises and circled the sleek, pretty car. Sure, it was dinged up to the Pit and back, and Drift was in some definite need of TLC in both modes, but he could still see how good the other would look once he was taken care of properly. "You look fast."

"I'm a drift racer." He shifted on his wheels a bit. "At least I think so. Never really got a chance to try."

Oh. _Duh_ , his name. For some reason Rodimus had been thinking in terms of sand drifts. "Not bad. I'm pretty fast myself, though I'm a hot rod." He'd always liked his old name, and his altmode hadn't changed much; even now he could feel just how little the transformation had changed. Only a few surface alterations and he was on four wheels again, spoiler bright and cheery. "Okay, good. Follow me."

Even at less than half a tank and probably not feeling his best, Drift kept up well enough that they were back across the borders of Iacon in record time. Polyhex was not a bad city, but he preferred to be back on familiar roads. The streets grew denser and more packed the closer to the middle of the city they got, and the clinging stench of the Dead End fell away to the comparatively cleaner winds of the city. They passed the Enforcers headquarters, and he nearly stopped before deciding it would be best to send a message to Prowl. He didn't want Drift to feel pressured and truthfully didn't want his true title to be known just yet. He could feel the clean burn of energy as his fuel levels slowly but steadily dropped. He'd started at seventy five and was now hovering around fifty-five, which meant Drift was probably in the low twenties. Not a good feeling, but not painful or dangerous.

"We're almost there! About three kliks away and we're done."

He had no idea if Drift had heard him above the buffeting wind, but took a turn off the high-speed road and onto the slower paced main street. By now taller, flashier buildings were taking up the skyline, and the sidewalks were cluttered with bots going about their day. So many mechs and femmes going about their business, and it would be just as busy outside of his building.

Rodimus was never sure what to call it. The old-style design had been created back when Primes had dozens of servants to tend to their needs, and had been revamped each time a new Prime was found. The Prime's quarters took up half a city block and was roughly five stories tall. Of course he didn't live in the entire area; it was partly used for governmental activities, and many of the outer buildings were filled to the brim with government workers. Two buildings were used as living quarters for personal employees, most of which were empty now. His house, if it could be called something so normal, was the central structure and meant for his personal use only. He only had a few personal employees, and many of them didn't actually live in the outer buildings, instead keeping to their own apartments a ways away. The Council had been more than a little annoyed, but had relented once he insisted that his chosen few were the best ones he knew of and were worth the extra effort. In truth he was just picky and didn't want a bunch of bots hovering over him and offering to get him things he was capable of tracking down on his own.

That meant he'd have to put in a few calls for them to come over. The appointed medic was nice but he wanted Ratchet, if the older mech wasn't busy at the hospital. Sunstreaker would have to meet Drift at some point and help him pick out a new paint job, maybe even some new armor, once the speedster was cleaned up and feeling comfortable enough. His chef, Cacciatore, lived on the grounds and would probably want to make something special for Drift once he was cleared for richer foods. Prowl, of course, would probably want to talk to him, or at least send someone over to do so.

Focus. Prioritize. Ratchet first. Drift needed to be fed, cleaned and sent to recharge, probably in that order.

They had slowed to what felt like a crawl, and he was relieved to transform back into his rootmode and stretch a bit. "Done! Slag, next time I take a trip that far I'll bring extra fuel."

Drift transformed behind him, and seemed to teleport to Rodimus's side. "Why are we here? Where is this?"

He clicked his tongue. "I guess I can't be too surprised, but do you really not know where your Prime lives?" Despite his words, he grinned a little and bounced on his pedes.

Drift dragged his stare from the complex to the strange mech beside him, who seemed to burst with barely leashed amusement. "Are you joking?" A head-shake. He felt his energon, or at least what was running through his central system, start to boil. "Is this some sort of _joke?_ "

"Whoa, whoa. Hey." The red mech held up his hands and lowered his voice. "Come on. You've _really_ never seen me? Ever? There was a televised ceremony! I have a fancy helm crest and everything!"

"I thought you were just trying to be fashionable or something." He paused, then added, "and I don't believe you." Either he'd met a blasphemous idiot or a very unstable mech looking to drag him into a criminal act. At least he thought impersonating a Prime was a criminal act, but then he'd honestly forgotten who the current Prime was.

"Fiiiiine," he sighed, and motioned for Drift to follow him. "I'll prove it. Waltz past a buncha guards and stuff. Then I wanna call my medic friend and have him give you a once-over."

"Fine." Drift felt confident for a full three nano-kliks before realizing that if this mech was wrong, they'd probably get thrown in jail for trespassing. Was it still trespassing if you turned back the first time someone told you to get lost?

Bots milling around were staring at them, but he put that down to the red mech looking flashy and him looking less so. He realized he hadn't heard the other mech's name once, and plumbed his databanks for some record of the current Prime's name, assuming he was not a complete liar. Nothing came to mind. The people parted before them, a few of them calling greetings or questions, and the red mech waved or smiled but hurried on. Drift pushed so close he was nearly stepping on his heels, but couldn't help but wish they were past the open gate so he wouldn't have to endure the stares. He was in no state for going out in public and knew it.

The gate was open, but two bulky mechs stood guard, looking bored under the high sun.

"Afternoon, Compacter, Spinner."

"Rodimus," the blue bot said, just as the teal and black one said, "my Prime" in perfectly respectable tones.

Drift froze. No way. Absolutely no _fragging_ way.

"Come on," Rodimus said, reclaiming his hand to haul him along. He sounded on the verge of laughter. "Just 'cause you got proven wrong doesn't mean you can run off now."

_Primus in the Pit._ Drift shamelessly ogled his new associate, and all the shine and sweet-scent of wax and _gold currency card_ had brand new meaning. He'd thought the other was just some rich weirdo who wanted a pleasure bot of their own to keep at home. He'd have _sworn_ he'd been dragged away by some bored socialite who didn't, for whatever reason, feel like purchasing a high-class companion to keep him company for however long.

Not that that meant Rodimus hadn't bought him as a pleasure bot, but... it just seemed so strange. What had the Prime been doing in the Dead End, let alone looking through a low-quality whorehouse? Why had he chosen Drift when they hadn't even interfaced?

Worst case scenario was that Drift ended up as entertainment for the Prime and his friends. In which case, if his words about a doctor were anything to go by, he'd take better care of Drift than Slipshod ever had. That was still better than where he'd been just this morning. Best case scenario...

Drift had no idea. He couldn't even think of what the Prime might want from him, let alone what he'd get in return.

"Sorry the walk is so long," Rodimus suddenly said. "The building I live in is in the middle and the rest are all government stuff."

"It's fine." It was nice. Behind the gates was a long, concrete-white walkway that split into different paths that surely led off to the government buildings. The ground around it was some sort of crushed black mineral that sparkled in the light. Before the Prime's home was a large fountain, and the walkway snaked around both sides of it. Water instead of energon poured down a figure he didn't recognize wrestling with some sort of giant snake-fish creature.

"Gaudy, isn't it? I was told Zeta had it installed but that's not what he looked like so I dunno who it's supposed to be. Thought about getting rid of it but that's just more shanix on a dumb vanity project, so..."

"True. But then you'd be giving the money to whoever removed it, which isn't so bad."

"Huh." Well, Drift did have a point there. "What do you think? There's a small crystal garden around here somewhere, I think it's towards the back if you want to see it later. Or the bigger garden out back."

"It's clean here."

Rodimus squeezed his hand, and his spark spun a little faster. It was clean here, and he liked it. Despite the odd looking fountain, the rest of the area seemed very calm and even pretty in a way. There were no bots begging for spare shanix or offering to sell things of dubious origins, and this far into the complex the world beyond the gate seemed far away.

"Here we are." The door was huge, but no one stood in their way. Drift flared his vents to cool his frame and tried not to yank his hand free so he could run back through the gate. Rodimus Prime had paid off his entire debt, which could have easily taken him dozens upon dozens of vorns to pay off at the rate he'd been going. If nothing else he owed him a chance to explain things before he made a run for it. Rodimus poked a few symbols on the keypad set into the wall, and when the panel below it slid open, placed his free hand on the scanner. A pale blue light slid up and down his palm and then there was the sound of a chime. "And we're in. Easy."

It was even more lovely inside than out, which wasn't much of a surprise. The inside was a lot warmer in color than he expected, with soft cream walls and cheerful lighting to greet newcomers.

"Okay, my room and the guest quarters are all upstairs and each room has a private washrack and stuff. We'll get you set up and I know I said you should see Ratchet first but I think some midgrade won't hurt any." Rodimus rambled when he was under pressure, Drift guessed, but appreciated it. He was starting to feel the effects of a low tank, and no power on Cybertron would keep him from accepting the cube of energon the Prime filled from a small dispenser and shoved towards him. "Here."

The energon he'd been living on was edible, but it tasted sharply of the basic contaminants that came from the ground. Low quality filtration meant it would be sold much more cheaply, and Slipshop had been many things but loose with his money had not been one of them. It had left a strange heat behind in it's wake, a contrast he recalled as the coolness of the midgrade flooded his intake.

"Help yourself." Rodimus motioned at the dispenser as he gulped his own cube down, navigating around the plush couches and chairs to reach a small screen set near the wall. "I got a call to make."

Drift had just taken a second cube and was in the process of sitting down before remembering he was filthy and the furniture was immaculate. He elected to stand, a little awkwardly, and listen to the other chat.

The screen brightened but Rodimus was positioned just the right way to block most of it from the white mech's view. "Hey, Hatchet."

"Well, aren't you lucky I'm actually ahead of schedule and have time to pick up your calls. What'd you do now, get another fender bender?"

"That was ages ago! And no. Do you have a couple cycles free today? I have a friend who needs to see you."

"That's very vague. What kind of friend? Are they injured?"

Rodimus hummed to himself. "That's something you should see for yourself. They're not bleeding out or anything but I don't want to drag them to the hospital and there might be long-term problems that need to be taken care of. I'm not sure."

"Are they there? Let me see them."

Rodimus looked over at him, and for some reason Drift panicked and shook his head. The Prime hesitated for half a nanoklik and then crooked his finger at him. Glumly, Drift wandered over, where the other mech moved to the side so he could stand in front of the screen.

The medic wore the traditional colors, and was a bit older than he'd expected. His face was handsome enough but even separated by technology he had the general air of someone who didn't get much sleep. "You look rough, kid." He looked slightly to the side, at Rodimus. "Where'd you find him?"

"Dead End."

"The frag you go over there for?"

"Oh, like you have any right to say that!"

"Shush." He looked back at Drift and then shrugged. "Alright, I won't waste your time with questions. I'll be over in half a cycle, give or take. If he's low on energon give him _one_ cube of midgrade and let him top off with lowgrade. Do _not_ give him highgrade or special additives or anything like that!"

"Uh," Rodimus began, but the screen went black. "Ah, well. We'll pretend we only gave you one cube of midgrade, unless he asks."

Drift guiltily placed his hand over the refilled cube he'd already half-drained. "Right. Um. What should we do until he gets here?"

"Depends. Are you feeling tired and like you need a rest or do you wanna look around? You could pick out a room."

He suddenly wished Rodimus wouldn't put the onus on him to choose what they were going to do. "I dunno. I guess I'm feeling a bit tired, but - "

Instantly, the red mech placed both hands on his shoulders and steadily pushed him back until his legs bumped the couch. "Sit."

"But the couch!" He objected, even as his aft landed on the soft cushions.

"Is made for sitting on. Or laying. You could even have a nap if you want, I don't care. We've got half a cycle to kill and it was a long drive from Polyhex." Relatively speaking, of course. Rodimus dropped into place next to his guest and laid his third cube on his knee.

"It's the middle of the solar cycle."

"You were napping when I found you." Drift looked away, embarrassed. _Ouch. Maybe don't bring up how we met so soon._ "If you don't want to catch some recharge, we could talk? About things? You probably have more questions."

"You said something about how I wouldn't believe you, when I asked why you were in the Dead End and why you chose me. Are you going to tell me why or not?"

"Mmmmm." Rodimus dragged his hand across his face, suddenly wishing Drift had gone for the nap. "Yeah, okay. So. It sounds dumb, but you know the temple for Primus? The main one? It's like four blocks from here. Anyway there's this... actually, I don't one hundred percent know what she is. A fortune teller? A psychic? She lives in the temple doing who knows what, but she's got these followers so I guess she's important. People go to her for advice and she usually tells them to frag off. But she came down to see me a few days ago, babbled some mystic stuff about me finding someone who's going to be "most important to me" and that I should find them, and gave me this." He lifted the creased foil with the address written on it. "So, I went there, and it was where you were, and... "

"And you think I'm this most important person?" Bitterness dripped from every word. Behind that, though, was something guarded and, if Rodimus had to guess, something almost hopeful.

He smiled at him, as sincerely as he could. "I think you _could_ be."

Drift looked away, biting his lip.

How awful that someone like Drift had been hurt so long and for so little reason. If the All-Seeing hadn't told him, Rodimus would never have gone to the Dead End and he'd still be stuck in that hole in the wall. The thoughts galvanized him, and Rodimus jumped to his pedes. "I just remembered I have a thing to do. A quick thing.  Be right back, okay?"

Rodimus scurried away from what was clearly A Moment. He didn't mind having emotional moments with mechs he'd just met - things happened, people almost died, they gave you a kiss or whatever - but Drift struck him as so vulnerable he worried he was overwhelming him. Or, worse, giving him the wrong impression, what with paying off his debt and bringing him back home. Sure, the lady hadn't told him to bring Drift back, but what else was he supposed to do, leave him there?

"Fuck no," he muttered aloud, safely on the second floor and away from Drift's audio receptors. He punched in the frequency on the mini communication station to Prowl's personal number, which he'd been told never to use when he was on duty.

"Who is this."

"Prowl! Hey. Hi."

" _Prime_." Prowl said the title in a way he never had when Optimus was Prime. It was a tone that Rodimus was very familiar with, coming from bots who actually knew him. "I know you know the number for the Enf- "

"Yes but I have an actual reason for this this time and it's a legal thing and I wanted you to be the one to file the report _because_. I know you are fair and care about other Cybertronians and their needs."

There came the crackle of a deep sigh, and then the soft click of a keypad being typed on. "You still could have called the Enforcer's Headquarters and asked for me."

"This is faster and it's sort of a time-sensitive thing. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Proceed."

"Alright! So I went to the Dead End - wait, don't interrupt," he said when Prowl made a noise. "This brothel in the Dead End."

" _What?_ Why?"

"Interruptions! A fortune teller told me to. The point is, it's at the cross section of G-H-One and Seven-Six-Five, and it's filthy and disgusting and I know for a fact that the mech running it, his name is Slipshod, bought the debt of at least one of the bots there so they'd come work for him. I saw enough to know that he is definitely not taking care of the workers there, as in illegally not doing so. So. Like, go arrest him."

"I'll have to actually send someone in Polyhex down there to have a look around, but if it's as bad as you say I'm sure we can do something."

"Something soon?"

"Rodimus. Do you really think we're going to let someone abusing prostitutes slip away?"

He felt a small flare of anxiety, and leaned his weight against the wall so he could tap his pede for a moment. "Mmm. No."

"Right." There was a pause, and his pede-tapping sped up to a staccato. "Rodimus, you didn't... sleep with - "

"No!" He exclaimed, annoyed beyond belief. "Jeez, Prowl, that place was a tenement."

"Do I want to know what you _did_ do there?"

"Before you get the wrong idea, I did pay for a cycle with one of the workers. And I might have paid his debt off. And then brought him home with me." Silence. He waited. He poked his head around the hallway to see if Drift had followed him up, and he hadn't. When the response came, Prowl was much more calm than he'd expected.

"This sort of thing never happened with Optimus, you know."

"Well _excuse_ me."

"You know what you did isn't exactly safe, don't you? Rodimus? Do I have to explain why taking someone out of an unsafe situation by exerting your influence and wealth can lead to them seeing _you_ as unsafe?"

"He's not like that. And we have an understanding. And there were extenuating circumstances that don't need to go into the police report. Prime-y stuff."

Another gust of air. He was proud to have that effect on people, but right now he just wanted Prowl to say they were done and hang up. "Where is he now? Right now?"

"Downstairs on the couch, resting. He's not bad."

"I'm sure he isn't. Go. I've got enough information. I'll want to talk to him, soon."

"Not today, though, right?"

"No, Rodimus, not today. Thanks for the call. Now go make sure your new friend isn't getting into anything he shouldn't."

He didn't need to be told twice; he was down the hall and sliding down the banister the moment Prowl stopped talking. Truthfully, he wasn't worried that the other mech would actually try anything. Drift was too run down and weak to carry off anything actually worthwhile in this place, and Rodimus doubted he had any propensity for violence. Maybe in the context of self defense, but not 'attack a random bot and run off' kind of way.

" - not to have drank that second cube of midgrade."

"Sorry."

"Hey!" He hopped off the banister and was surprised to find his couch now held one mech more than when he'd left it. "Hatchet!"

Ratchet was sitting next to Drift, shining a little light up to his optics at different angles. There were now three cubes on the table instead of two, and he'd bet the third was lowgrade. A diagnostic cable trailed between them, connecting their wrist-ports. "I never told you you could use that nickname," he said, palming the light and turning Drift's head so he could examine a finial.

"That's the thing about nicknames. Other people decide them  _for_ you."

He muttered something in response before pinching the tip of Drift's finial and slowly bending it back into place. "That probably hurt but it's better than letting your self repair struggle with it. So, you drank the second cube - "

"Half of the second cube," Rodimus jumped in, hovering behind the couch so he could see what was happening. "It's not his fault, you'd only said not to once he'd already started. And it was only half."

"Alright, alright. But you drank it, which shouldn't be too big of a deal, but the reason I wanted you to wait was because I wanted to see what your tank was like. Sometimes it rebels once it has higher quality energon than usual, especially in large amounts. Open your mouth." Drift did so, Ratchet checked his denta and then, to the Prime's disgust, swiped a bit of oral lubricant with his finger.

"Ratch, what the hell?"

"I'm just checking for contaminants or infections. If it's too much for you, you can look away." He opened a small compact and rubbed the fluid on the black dot in the middle. The top section lit up and then a list of medical information appeared. "Not bad. No infections. Trace amounts of ground minerals, but that's to be expected from low quality energon." He slanted a sharp look at the other. "Did you ever consume anything from that place besides the energon? And did he hand it off individually, or did everyone use the same dispenser?"

"He only brought us energon, but I know he bought it from the same place all the time because it came in the same containers. We got a certain allotment each time and he had us carry it to our rooms."

Ratchet clicked his tongue. "Your systems are running a bit hot. It's normal considering the long-term strain. But there's some old damage... did you ever take anything?"

Drift winced, and Rodimus briefly looked away. "Syk. Circuit boosters. A few other things."

"When was the last one?"

Drift squirmed despite the neutral tone. "Half a vorn, maybe."

"That's good. Don't do it again. I don't think your frame's going to like it, and I know your processor won't. Now," his tone changed slightly, gaining volume and authority. "You're doing quite well. You need a wash up and to have a few scrapes filled in, and your tank isn't in it's best shape but as long as you stick to clean fuel," he nodded at the cubes on the table, "it'll clean itself out. Don't have any highgrade or engex until at least a deca-cycle has passed. Stay away from flightframe fuel for just as long, if you have an affinity for it. You can eat whatever weird foods Rodimus is probably going to want to feed you, as long as your fuel level is at sixty-five percent. Don't go under sixty if you're going to indulge. Rodimus," he said suddenly, startling him. "Do me a favor and go fetch some midgrade with a heavy dash of crystal sulfate."

"Uh, okay," the Prime said, caught off guard. Drift watched him wander off in the opposite direction as before.

"Okay, listen up." Ratchet called his attention back, and he snapped his gaze to the medic. He disengaged the cable from Drift's port and tucked it away. "I know what kind of work you did and to cut to the chase; you're just fine. No rust infections, luckily, but there are some minor tears and bruising your self repair is trying to tackle. Just drink your fuel and it'll repair itself soon enough. Wash yourself once this solar cycle and again every other cycle until it's done, but don't be rough. Let Rodimus pay for whoever's going to fix your plating and paintjob and you'll be as good as new."

Drift nodded, still unsure and now deeply embarrassed. It was bad enough Rodimus knew where he'd been working, but now a perfect stranger knew a lot more intimate details than he'd ever wanted anyone to know.

Ratchet paused, watching the figure slowly hunch in on itself. Poor mech probably wasn't any older than Rodimus was. "Hey," he said, softening his voice. "Cheer up. You've had a very lucky day. I know he can be a bit much but Rodimus is a good kid. He's not gonna want to hurt you or make you do anything you don't want to do. So if something _does_ start to happen, and you want to stop, just say stop. He won't get mad or throw you out."

"Sure about that?"

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt the tender protoform underneath. "I know it. Whatever happened before has no bearing on what happens next. Just think of this as a second chance. Don't waste it, alright?"

Drift felt some of the tension leave his frame, and managed a smile. "Okay. Thanks."

Rodimus rounded the corner, and the weight of that warm hand left his shoulder. He felt almost energized, flattered by the medic's words.

"Thanks," Ratchet said, taking the glass from the red mech. Purple colored crystals sparkled in the bottom of blue-tinted fuel. Without another word, he downed the entire drink in one go.

Rodimus  _squawked_. "What? I thought that was for Drift!"

"Why would you think that?" Ratchet asked, the edge of a grin on his face. He set the glass down and stood, and Drift quickly did as well. The older mech began making his way towards the door. "Alright, I'm done here. Drift knows what he needs and you know not to feed him alcohol. Call me if you need anything, unless it's an emergency in which case just get him to the hospital. I don't anticipate that happening, though."

"How much? I know he was in pretty good condition but you still had to come down here."

"Don't worry about it."

" _Raaaatchet_ ," whined the leader of the entire planet. "Come on. That was work."

"I'm not in any need of shanix."

To Drift's surprise, Rodimus plastered himself across the doorway, blocking the other in. "What if... I sent a donation with instructions that it benefit some of the free clinics?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, which was a weird combination of tilting his head back and focusing them upwards. He placed his hand on the hot rod's shoulder and gently swept him aside. "You can do whatever you want."

"I'm gonna do it!" Rodimus yelled at his retreating back. "And it's gonna be a big one!"

"Good _day_ , Rodimus."

Drift flattened his hand over a smile and tried not to giggle.

"Yeah, he's real lovable, isn't he?" Rodimus flashed him a grin and shut the door. "Well, now that that's taken care of, want me to show you a really cool thing?"

The really cool thing in question turned out to be a spacious room dedicated entirely to bathing. Unsurprisingly there was an oil bath, and a row of containers holding clothes, sponges, fibrous loofahs, and extra bottles formed a half-moon around it. There were no less than _eight_ different faucet levers, each with a different colored handle, and two faucets. The  sunken tub was so wide he and Rodimus could both stretch out and not touch each other. It was ridiculously huge, and he guessed it'd been made for large frames in mind. The wall to the left was entirely covered in mirror, and along the right wall was a bench, counter and smaller horizontal mirror for prepping in. Directly across from the door was a rack of towels, a closed cabinet and three smaller washracks, presumably for bots who wanted to rinse off _before_ getting into the bath.

"It's awesome, right? Tell me it isn't. It's definitely the best thing about this place and I fully expect you to take advantage of it." He pointed at each colored lever in turn. "Okay, so; water, oil, soft acid soak, solvent, sodium lauryl sulfoacetate for extra bubbles, crystals that are supposed to be good for your protoform or something, these weird soft waxy melts for aches and pains and... I forgot what the last one was. Um. Oh! Scented oils. I'd avoid the acid soak but otherwise knock yourself out." He looked to Drift for a reaction.

Drift had none. This was so luxurious it was practically redundant. How was he supposed to even choose what to do? "I... "

Rodimus waved him off. "I know. That was basically my reaction when I first saw it. I used my own private washracks for like two deca-cycles I was so intimidated. But it's a lot of fun once you, you know, get used to it. You can stay in here however long you want," he added, sensing that Drift might have personal business or even just need some time on his own. "Really. I can keep myself busy so do what you want."

Hesitantly, Drift took a few steps around the bath and knelt next to the containers. "Is there anything I shouldn't use?"

"Nah, I can just restock. I don't use most of this stuff honestly, I'm not sure what it's for but Sunstreaker had a meltdown when I talked about getting rid of some of it, so here it stays. You can change the light level too. So... I'll leave you to it." It was getting awkward watching Drift look confused, so Rodimus did what Hot Rod had so often failed to do; make a tactical retreat.

Drift stared forlornly at the closed door. Not that he'd really wanted Rodimus around while he cleaned himself, but the half-formed idea of just having a conversation while he soaked was a nice one. At the same time he was relieved; he finally had some space to clean his frame properly, with no reason to rush or worry that his work would be ruined by the next solar cycle. After getting over how ridiculous the setup was, he felt a little tendril of excitement. There were so many supplies, and the Prime had given him the go-ahead to spoil himself.

The only thing was, how was he supposed to start?

After a few nanokliks of contemplation, Drift turned the oil faucet on, twisting the lever until it was set to full blast. Hot oil gushed from the left faucet, splattering loudly on white marble. Confident it would take a while to fill up, he rifled through the little containers until he found a few blocks of solid soap and a thick sponge before making his way to one of the washracks.

Even the washracks were extra nice, with a raised half-moon rim so the liquid wouldn't spill across the rest of the floor and a small shelf set into the wall beside each. Acutely aware of all the dings and scratches across his frame, and the aches that came from a perpetual lack of care, he set the water to near-scalding.

Steaming hot water fell over him in a barrage, sluicing off grime and the remnants of foreign spills. His recently fixed finial tingled, and he flared open his armor, stretching his arms above his head and bouncing on the balls of his pedes. The soap frothed easily, and he began the arduous process of squeezing the sponge between plate edges. Foam clung to his frame, stray bubbles breaking off to float towards the drain or pop in midair. Drift hadn't felt this good in vorns, and he rinsed and re-soaped the sponge, eagerly going back over areas two or three times. Turning the water down to a cooler temperature, he took extra care around torn or deteriorated plating. After a nanoklik of thought, he sent the command to expose his spark and gently rubbed around the rim of his open chest panels.

His spark cast pale blue light across the tile, reflecting off the water and throwing dancing lights all over the place. After a moment, he turned fully towards the water and let it ping against his spark casing and internals. Water pooled and overflowed, and he laughed nervously, scrubbing his hand across in his face in slight embarrassment. Primus, it felt _wonderful_. Perhaps a little too wonderful, as it reminded him that with the rest of his body clean, he needed to act on Ratchet's earlier advice.

After turning his back to the water and making sure his chest cavity was empty of liquids and closed again, he set the sponge on the shelf and opened his modesty panel. There was the faint scraping sound of the panel sliding against the surrounding metal. It had been bent under one customer's particularly aggressive grinding, just enough that opening it would make a noise if he wasn't flat on his back.

Cupping the water in his palms, he pressed them against his valve lips, letting them soak for a moment before pressing a finger inside. Dry as he was, he could feel the slight twinge of one of the internal tears the medic had mentioned. Prodding the outer valve revealed deep bruising, rather painful for the lack of external marks. The shower suddenly seemed less fun, but he determinedly pressed on, holding handfuls of water to his array and making sure to very carefully clean his valve lips, around his node and finally his rim. Once he felt clean enough - once the dregs from the incredible amount of soap he had used had been rinsed away - he turned the washrack off.

Then Drift turned and realized the tub would probably be on its way to overflowing once he got in. "Ah, scrap!"

He scrambled across the slick tile, sliding a terrifying few lengths towards the tub before he stopped the flow of oil. It burbled at him, a few large bubbles sliding through the viscous fluid before rising to the top and popping. He deliberated drying off the water but eventually decided it didn't matter. There was so much oil it would surely not be disturbed by a few stray beads of water.

He slid one pede in and nearly wept at the delicious heat that enveloped it. With no reason to wait, he lowered himself the rest of the way in, sinking until the tips of his finials were covered.

_I could slip into recharge right now. Wonder if Rods would just let me keep this room..._

His kind were pretty much incapable of floating, and so Drift sunk to the bottom of the tub, content to let the heat work it's way into his struts. The smoothness of the tub felt strange but not unpleasant against his frame. Little bubbles of air trapped in his armor slipped free into the oil, and he onlined his optics to watch their trail to the surface. They left ticklish paths across his protoform, and he clenched his fists before stretching his palms flat, bending and flexing his pedes. It was blissfully quiet, and Drift realized he was free from the moans and grunts that pervaded Slipshod's brothel, from the awful sounds that slipped through the thin walls into his cramped room.

It was probably quiet in the Prime's home, given the size and the fact that no one seemed to live in it aside from Rodimus. He doubted the other had personal employees floating around. Although he didn't know him well, Rodimus seemed the sort to be too jumpy, too restless to spend his time being waited on by a flock of servants. Even if there did turn out to be a few around, he could just sequester himself upstairs and avoid them.

Drift realized he had already latched onto the idea of staying with the Prime, and while part of him felt badly for it, it was drowned out by relief. No more selling himself just to get by, no taking high risk jobs that his frame couldn't handle just to keep from starving. He could stay as long as was allowed, and... well. Surely there was something he could do that would help. He wasn't useless, at least not when he was healthy. He'd like to think he wasn't particularly unintelligent. Maybe he'd be like Rodimus' confidant, someone to bounce ideas off of. Maybe that was how he would end as the Prime's supposed "most important" person.

Although traces of anxiety burned in his circuits, he warmed to the idea. It wasn't terrible at all.

When the beginnings of lethargy became clear in his inability to stay focused, Drift surfaced and shuttered his optics a few times, trying to clear the oil away. His lenses were thankfully whole, and the oil didn't cause any damage. Standing straight, hip-deep in oil, he again noticed the many options for additives. Two faucets and eight levers stared back, and his curiosity piqued.

It became clear upon closer inspection that the second faucet was more of a dispenser, and vaguely square-shaped and translucent to contrast it's cylindrical and silver twin. Both sprouted from the flat tile to curve over the edge of the bath, and the levers lined the tile below them. Drift wondered how it would deliver anything considering it would need to be pushed straight up, a feat easier done with liquid than solids. The design struck him as gaudy and impractical, but then, he was not an architect who made such lavish rooms for the likes of Primes.

Design issues aside, his curiosity had outgrown his self-consciousness and he flicked the dim pink lever to the side. Instantly dozens of little cubes poured forth, muffled rattling followed by splashes. Alarmed, he shut it off and waited for the slight panic to die down. Why had the mech or femme who designed this room think the Prime needed such things delivered to their bath when they could have simply scooped a few out from a container instead?

The melts had sunk to the bottom, and Drift didn't feel like trying to scoop them back out. He twisted the lever on and off quickly, palm placed beneath the opening. He caught a handful of the strange, soft cubes and crushed one between his fingers. The wax buckled and the dull maroon revealed a much brighter inside, almost the color of energon. Drift looked down to stare at the melts settling at the bottom of the tub and squished a few under his pede. A burst of bright color immediately bled into the oil, turning the surrounding space a lurid pink. He crushed the cubes in hand one by one, enjoying the consistency between his seams and the color spreading through the oil. The few he'd failed to pop down below had collapsed under the heat, and the wax disintegrated into the oil.

Drift wasn't sure how the bubble-stuff would do in oil, but he knew he wanted to try out the crystals. His hand hovered over the levers, trying to recall which was which. Cautious, and with one hand under the dispensor, he tapped the second to last, a pale purple lever. A small assortment of crystals fell into his palm, polygonal and dim shades of purples, pinks, and blues. He dropped his hand, twisted the lever and watched in satisfaction as they streamed into the oil.

 

Rodimus called up Sunstreaker and made sure he had a few hours to spare for the next few solar cycles. He had no idea when Drift would want to let the yellow mech at his paintjob, or if he would even want advice on plating replacement, but figured it couldn't hurt to see if his friend was free anyway. The artist instantly wanted to see Drift, but relented when he was told the mech was taking time to clean up.

"I remember when Sides and I finally got our own set of washracks. Could hardly pry each other out of 'em, even when we had work. Just make sure to call ahead so I can keep my schedule free, okay?"

Sunstreaker was more than a little vain, and he could very easily slip up and say the most insulting slag imaginable, but Rodimus knew he'd treat Drift well. Any detailer in any body shop would treat Drift well as long as the Prime flashed the right amount of shanix, but Sunstreaker would actually mean it. There was also the fact that his paints were honestly the best Rodimus had ever seen, but that took slightly less priority than making sure his guest felt comfortable.

With that out of the way, paranoia set in and he went to check his week's schedule. There were honestly solar cycles when he had nothing to do, but he lost track so easily because the administrative side of being Prime, no matter how minor it might be, bored him to tears. He could barely stand tedium as Hot Rod, and not much had changed when he became Rodimus. Thankfully, he was free for the next two days. He had managed to stretch the conversation with Sunstreaker and scheduled work into a joor. He milled around the living room, laid upside on the couch with his legs dangling over the back, half-listening to the news. A second joor crawled by.

Then another. _Three joors! What is he doing in there?_  Had the white mech fallen into recharge in the bath? Primus knew it had happened to Rodimus on more than one occasion. He debated checking in on the other, not wanting to invade his privacy and knowing it didn't hurt anything to let him rest. Rodimus fixed himself a cube of engex, black crystals cluttering the bottom and oil speckled across the surface. Boredom settled into his gut.

_Maybe_ I _should take a nap_. Nearing the evening, he curled up on the couch with a blanket, an older holovid on low.

Half a joor later, there came the soft pad of pedes on carpeted floor. "...Rodimus? Are you here?"

Still sleepy, he tipped his head on the armrest to stare at Drift. Upside down Drift, too. "Hey."

The Prime had looked like a heap of blankets to his optics, and he smiled a little. "Hi. Did I take too long?"

"Nah." Rodimus stretched his arms and legs, arcing his back under the pile of blanket until it cracked before splaying across the cushions. "It's all good. Hungry?" It was a bit too late to call for Cacciatore, although the chef would certainly make the trip if he did call. Rodimus was far from helpless and could make some interesting energon blends. His attempts at goodies had all failed, but he knew there were likely leftovers in the kitchen's storage unit.

"Extremely." His self repair and other maintenance related systems had sucked the clean energon up so quickly he was hovering around forty percent again.

The red mech hopped to his pedes. "Awesome! Kitchen tour time."

Kitchen tour time was easy. All he had to do was point to about seventy-five percent of the kitchen and say "This is Cacciatore's, he told me not to touch it" and that was that.

Well, almost. "Everything else is up for grabs, nothing should be dangerous or require special equipment beyond a mixer or whatever. I just throw it all in a refillable cube. The storage unit has a bunch of food he made, also up for grabs. Do you want something specifically, or...?"

"Right now? Anything. What was that stuff Ratchet had earlier? I'd take that."

"Take a look at the food too," Rodimus couldn't help but add as he turned to the cupboards. "Whatever room you choose should have a minifridge - uh, a smaller storage unit. You can take stuff from here and put them in it if you want. Sometimes I get hungry in the middle of the recharge cycle for no reason and it's better than crawling out of bed."

Drift had already stuck his head in the unit, staring at the rows of covered treats or bowls of goodies. He knew they were called consumables, but he couldn't help but think of the solid food as treats, like rust sticks or sweet gels. Most bots consumed energon, since actual "food" cost more money and filled a bot the same amount as its liquid counterpart. The only exceptions were if they had additives, which common fuel often didn't.

More than that, he frowned at the odd verbal slip. It wasn't the first time Rodimus had said a word that sounded completely foreign to him. "You keep saying strange words I don't recognize. What's a minifridge? What does 'fuck' mean?"

Rodimus snorted. "Just, like, wow. You really never watched or heard any news from the past few vorns at all."

Drift scowled at him over the two handfuls of consumables he'd snatched up. "I didn't have time for things like that. What did it matter if Sentinel was or wasn't Prime anymore?"

"Yeah, I know, but this was all over the place. Oh god, that reminds me; I have so many mechs you need to meet. Okay!" He jumped up on the counter, one of two drinks in hand. "Story time. Okay, so, some wannabe detective got caught up in a worker's rights protest and some higher ups in the government wanted them to shut up. His name was Orion Pax and he gives speeches like today's the last day you're ever gonna live, no joke. Sentinel got sick and his frame started to decay around this time, but he was still meeting with bots, and Orion managed to get in. Funny enough, the leader - well, sort of leader - of the work protesters snuck in the same time and they both ended up in Sentinel's receiving room or whatever. The Matrix pretty much fell out of his dumb chest and Orion picked it up and surprise! It liked him so it reformatted him into Optimus Prime, who isn't that much different from what I heard. Well, Sentinel went ahead and died right there, and there were alarms rigged up to alert the people in charge of when he kicked the bucket so they came in and found a nobody, an angry miner and a big gaping hole in their leader's chest." Rodimus grinned and kicked his pedes. He had just been a jobless speedster wandering around Nyon when this was going down, and had only heard the ridiculous story after the fact.

Drift was stuck staring at the mech, energon gel frozen half-way to his mouth. Worker's rights? Detectives? Someone was a miner? _What?_

"I'm not sure what he was thinking but Megatron - that's the miner, by the way - must have thought Optimus was in trouble or _actually_ trouble or something, because he grabbed him and dragged him out of there. Well, they got chased off and there were a bunch of Enforcers running around looking for them and whole areas were on lock-down but they'd collected a few mechs by that point and the _really_ funny thing is that they stole a spaceship in a panic and ran off into space. Well. _Two_ spaceships."

Drift goggled at him a bit more before shoving something textured and crunchy into his mouth.

"Because, and this is really stupid, they got into a fight with each other and Megatron up and decided Optimus was some sort of weird government spy or something and wanted to take the Matrix from him and Optimus couldn't just pop the thing out and hand it over, so. Punching happened. Some Enforcer called Prowl managed to get on Optimus's ship and tried to turn it around and smashed it into Megatron's ship, and they crashed on this really weird organic planet called Earth. They woke up, like, five joors later though and everyone was fine. Now I'm not even really sure what happened, they didn't give me a lot of details but long story short, teamwork saved the day and they talked it out and Ultra Magnus found their distress signal and came and picked them up. Prowl vouched for Optimus, Optimus vouched for Megatron, camera footage in the room revealed they had nothing to do with Sentinel dying, and just like that they were off the hook. Figures."

_I have no idea who these bots are_ , Drift thought.

"Anyway, since Optimus was technically the Prime, he gave orders to purge the anti-union bots who were using their authority to breech some certain privacy laws and may or may not have been bribing lower court judges to look the other way when worker's exploitation came up. I keep saying workers but these guys were allllll miners. Maybe a few concerned contructibots, but mostly miners. So, um. Maybe nine solar cycles after all this goes down, I find they're offering positions for bots who are willing to go to the organic planet to work for some certain rare substances and signed up and that's how I learned a bunch of human words. Fridge is the storage unit they use in their kitchens, and fuck is just their word for interface. One of them, at any rate. It's basically interchangeable with 'frag'. Then Optimus gave me the Matrix and here we are."

"What!?" Drift finally demanded, having followed the tumultuous story as best as he could and led to a very abrupt ending. "Why? He only had it for a little while!"

"He said he had a vision and that I - don't ask me why, I don't _know_ why - would 'do better' with it. He's a super cop now and works with Megatron and Ultra Magnus to snuff out exploitation and crime syndicates and other made-for-holovid-stuff. The Matrix just... " Rodimus made an odd, half-twisting motion with his free hand. "Came out when he wanted it and he gave it to me. So it agrees it was a good idea."

Drift couldn't help his gaze dropping to stare at the mech's chassis. The Matrix was just sitting in there, and Rodimus wasn't even a politician or a... a well educated bot, or a scientist or anything! He was just some mech.

The more he thought about it, although a small part of him rebelled at the growing processor threads, the more he began to wonder if it wasn't a good thing that Rodimus was just a common mech. Perhaps it had even been a variable that lead to the Matrix choosing him, or at least accepting him. Drift had to admit he hardly knew anything about what Primes were supposed to be like, or what made a good candidate for a Prime. If pressed he'd have to say someone who cared about others, and it did seem that Rodimus fit that profile.

A bright red palm flashed in front of his optics, and he jolted in place, embarrassed at being caught staring like a newspark.

"And now you know! Alright, story time's over, my vocalizer needs a rest. Grab what you want and let's go find you a room."

'A room' was a very vague concept to Drift. He had little idea of how someone like Rodimus Prime lived, let alone what a personal room looked liked. Clean, in possession of a full tank and feeling better than he had in vorns, Drift tried not to get too excited about what his room would be like, worried he would be disappointed. He told himself he was being ridiculous, that a room wasn't that big of a deal, but truthfully the idea of having someplace to call his own filled him with anticipation.

"So I room on the top floor, it's supposedly safer and the view is really nice. There're rooms with big bay windows if you're into that, or rooms with much less open area, so you can look around a bit if you want before choosing. Layout and space is roughly the same for each room, private washrack, a minifridge, recharge berth, a small entertainment area slash bar slash reclining area type deal."

They wandered the upper floors, arms laden with food. Drift was pleasantly surprised to find he did not feel uneasy; the day was winding down, their interactions following a natural progression that left him feeling comfortable in the Prime's presence even as the night approached.

"It's usually pretty warm, but there are thermal wraps and extra blankets under the beds if you need as well. I know the recharge slabs are still used elsewhere but the organic's ideas of actual beds are really - "

Drift opened another door, peeking in curiously while Rodimus chattered about the merits of cushioned surfaces. The brothel Drift had worked at had used padded surfaces, as a superficial luxury meant to evoke the feeling of higher-class pleasurebots and their work areas. He'd found his berth comfortable after living on the streets, until his mind had cleared and the so-called job began to take its toll on him.

He didn't want to think about that now. Instead he checked another door, and another, foodstuff precarious in his grip while the other mech filled the silence. Down the hallway, he could see through the small window that the stars were already out and the sky had turned a dusky purple.

"Which room is yours?"

Rodimus marched two lengths away and pulled open a door to reveal a pleasantly messy room. The bed at the far end was piled with blankets and pillows (did his future room have pillows too?) and various trinkets and holovids were strewn about on a table. "Tadaa. There used to be a wall up between the recreation area and the bedroom but, eh. I like the open space more this way."

The rooms were more or less the same no matter how they were arranged. The window at the end of the hallway looked out over the back of the estate, where the garden appeared to be, and Drift figured this floor was as good as any others. He walked to the next room over and stood before the door. "Um, this one. I guess."

"Perfect." He swept over, nearly dropping a few sweets, and flung the door open before Drift could.

Despite himself, he could feel excitement tickle through his lines. His own room! His own clean, big room where no one could come in unless he wanted them too. The bedroom was visible through an open door, and once he noticed it, Drift dumped the food on the table and ran toward it. Rodimus arrived just in time to see his guest take a running leap and land on the squishy mattress, limbs splayed out and bouncing slightly, and grinned at him.

"Thought you'd like it. Well, you know where everything is and where to find me, so..." He trailed off. Drift was staring at him, still collapsed flat to the berth, sleepy but content. "Good night, Drift."

"'Night, Rodimus."

The quiet, unambiguously relaxed tone left him feeling giddy, bouncing on the toe of his pedes once he was safely out of sight and in his own room. Success! He'd found the bot and brought him home and now everything was good. Rodimus wasn't sure how it was going to go tomorrow, but he was content to take his wins one day at a time. 

 

Drift woke from his slumber in inches, programs flickering to life one by one. He stretched his arms out above his head, pointed his toes straight. His plating flared open before slowly relaxing, his body pleasantly warm.

He waiting, venting slowly, letting his memory core get itself in order before he opened his optics. Even mentally prepared, his spark still jumped once it recalled everything that happened the day previous, and he unshuttered his optics. His room, clean and orderly, surrounded him, and laughter born of relief bubbled out of him. He was still here!

Drift rolled around in his squishy berth, bringing his knees up to his chestplates to feel the pull of tension in his back. He collapsed in easy comfort after a few kliks. His 'fridge' had fuel in it, and he crawled to the edge of the berth, stretching out one arm to snag the edge of the door. Almost... there...

Scrap. He couldn't reach it. Only mildly disappointed, he snatched a few treats and a cube before returning to his berth, cross-legged with his treasure spread out before him. What had Ratchet said again? Something about not overindulging if he was below sixty percent? Or had it been sixty-five percent? Checking his fuel levels revealed a perky fifty-three percent, and he took a few gulps of midgrade. It tasted clean and almost slippery on his tongue, lacking any grit deposits.

He sat around on his berth, refueling slowly and simply enjoying the feel of soft sheets and pillows underneath him. The day cycle had begun before he had awoken, and light streamed through a window with filmy material draped over it. A strange styling decision, or another organic affectation?

Despite his attachment to his new room, eventually Drift found himself growing anxious. Was he allowed to just get up and wander around? What time did Rodimus refuel? He didn't seem like the kind of mech who stuck to rigid schedules. Was Drift supposed to refuel with him or did he not care? Why hadn't he asked him when he had the chance?

_Don't be stupid. It's not like you're going to get in trouble for going downstairs._

He really wanted to know what the day had in store for him, and sitting around on his aft waiting for it wasn't what he wanted. He'd done enough of that back at Slipshod's place.

Unsurprisingly, the hallway was empty. As much as he strained his audials, Drift couldn't make out any noise. He knocked lightly on the Prime's door, and harder when he received no answer. Was Rodimus already awake? Perhaps he'd elected to let Drift sleep in and get up on his own time.

"- have called before you came over."

"You said today would be fine for a visit."

"I didn't mean at the very beginning of the day cycle!"

"Then you should have specified. I have a lot of work to do."

" _'I have a lot of paperwork to do'_ , whatever. I'm not waking him up for you."

" _Rodimus -_ "

"Roddy?" Drift called, peeking into the living room from where he was hiding at the bottom of the banister. He poked his head around the corner just in time to see Rodimus looking away from him to glare at the mech sitting in a chair across from him.

" _Now_ look what you did."

"It's alright, I was already up." He smiled as he entered the room, but it faltered when he took in the details of who the third bot was. A police officer, black and white and very straight-backed, was tapping his finger against a datapad.

"Well, fine. Anyway. This is - "

"My designation is Prowl. Rodimus spoke to me the other day about your circumstances and I would like it if you would answer a few questions I have." The words came out all in one long string, not like the copbot was rushed, but as he wanted to get the information out as efficiently as possible.

Drift eased down onto the couch, next to a fidgety Prime. "Okay... am I going to face charges?"

Prowl shuttered his optics at him, once. "You haven't done anything illegal and are not in any trouble. I'm part of the unit that investigates interface-related abuses and assaults and I believe," he nodded slightly at Rodimus, "that your former employer is the one who has failed to follow the law."

Drift looked over at the Prime to find him wincing and avoiding optic contact. "Well, the place was gross and creepy and he said some weird stuff. It was suspicious. So after we got here I called Prowl just to give him a heads up about Slipshod."

"And now Prowl wants to talk to me about it?" He wasn't angry at Rodimus, really, simply uncomfortable around police. Truly he felt uncomfortable around most Cybertronians, but he held no loyalty to Slipshod and even if he doubted the police would be able to fix everything for his former 'fellow employees' he didn't think it would hurt to try. Hopefully. "Okay... right now?"

"Would you like for us to speak alone or would you prefer Rodimus stays here?" Prowl asked.

"Uh... I... " his optics darted from one to the other, internally panicking. No, but - was that rude? It wasn't rude, was it? No?

"I can go!" The Prime popped off the couch like he had a spring-loaded aft. "I'll just be in the kitchen, so if you need anything," he made a twirly 'you know' hand motion and without another word departed.

In the ensuing silence, Prowl set the datapad he had down flat on the low table and tapped the screen. "Alright. I will do my best to avoid uncomfortable topics and personal questions. Should I ask you something you don't like, you can simply say you prefer not to answer. Are you ready?"

Drift studied the still figure for a klik, debating if he wanted the Prime in the room after all. He had met police officers before - he had even interfaced with one - and didn't have much interest in interacting with them. Before working for Slipshod they had largely been categorized as 'unsafe' in his mind, or at least to be avoided. The cop he had interfaced with had been a customer, and while he had not been particularly cruel to Drift, the experience had further eroded his trust in the force of mechs and femmes that were meant to serve and protect. They were just Cybertronians, prone to every vice and violent impulse and ugly desire that any other could succumb to, and in Drift's experience, that was most bots.

Admittedly, Prowl did not seem anything like any of the few police Drift had encountered. He seemed bizarrely restrained, waiting patiently for a response with nary a flicker of irritation in his field. Drift comforted himself; Rodimus - the _Prime_ \- had apparently taken a liking to him and was just a few room away. "Yes, I'm ready."

"What is your designation?"

"Drift."

"How are you feeling?"

Well, that was an odd turn to take. "I'm fine? I'm good. Rodimus has been really..." he struggled for something to say that would capture the entirety of how drastically his life had changed over the past cycle and failed. "Nice."

Strangely, this seemed to crack the professional facade Prowl had; his expression flickered and something like amusement shone through. "Yes, he's very friendly. Doesn't always think his actions through, but he means well. When you two first met, was it at Slipshod's business?"

It didn't have a name. He never knew why but suspected it was to keep others from finding and identifying it too easily. It could be any place in the Dead End. "Yes. I was in my room."

"You had your own room? Does every worker have their own room?"

"Yes. There were ten rooms, but there were only five of us."

"Did Rodimus pay to interface with you?"

He knew the question was coming, but his faceplates still blazed with heat. He twisted his fingers together, looking at the space just over Prowl's shoulder. "He paid for a cycle with me. It's up to the customer to tell us what they want us to do, but he just wanted to talk to me."

"I see. Did he say anything that specifically stood out to you?"

"He said... a lot of stuff. He asked me how I ended up working there. Then he said he wanted to pay off my debt and..." he hesitated, and his spark lightened from ashamed to slightly embarrassed. "I didn't believe him. I didn't realize who he was."

"Yes, he's not been Prime for very long. So Rodimus paid off your debt in full?"

"Yes."

"How much - never mind."

"What?"

"Disregard that, it's irrelevant. Was the amount Rodimus paid off more than what you started with when you began working at Slipshod's?"

"...yes."

"And did Slipshod - your employer - buy your debt from someone else with the stipulation that you would pay it back by working at his business?"

"Yes."

"Do you know if he purchased the debt of your fellow employees?"

"Yes, he did. I... heard them talking about it." Talking, complaining, cursing. No one had held Slipshod in favor.

Drift waited for Prowl to point out that what Slipshod had done was illegal, but instead he just frowned at the datapad, a thoughtful look on his face. "Were there limits on what customers could ask of you?"

"There were some."

"Would you tell me?"

"Well, they couldn't ask for something like... " he struggled to remember the rules. It had been so long ago, and he had barely been standing upright at the time. "Something that would permanently injure our frames, because then we'd have to get repaired. So they couldn't ask us to do a roleplay where they ripped off plating or broke a strut or something like that."

"Did Slipshod tell the customers these rules?"

"No, we were supposed to tell them if they asked or broke them."

"What happened if a customer broke the rules?"

"We had his comm frequency in case of emergencies. He had a blaster and copies of all the room's keys."

"What happened if a customer injured you?"

He squirmed in place. "Well, they couldn't come back. He took us to a doctor... or, maybe they weren't a doctor? I don't know if they were certified. They fixed us up. If someone couldn't be moved he'd come to us instead."

"Where did the shanix for the repairs come from?"

"He just added it to our debt." Quite out of nowhere, Drift realized the datapad was recording him. He didn't know why he hadn't realized it before, because it was fairly obvious. Why else have a datapad set out between them when Prowl wasn't typing on it or reading from it? He wondered who would be allowed to listen to it. Would only Prowl know and simply relay the details in a report, or would other officers be privy to his answers?

"Are - "

"Who's going to get to listen to this?"

Prowl's mouth snapped shut. His optics shuttered, once, twice. "What?"

"Are other bots going to be able to listen to this recording?"

Prowl looked down. He was looking right at the datapad, as if he had only just realized it was there. "It will go into a sealed file and will only be used to reference something should the need arise. I will compile a report on what you have told me and use it to recommend we pursue action against Slipshod and contact the appropriate agencies."

"Right. Okay. I was just checking." Not that he had much control over what Prowl did with the recording now, but it was good to know anyway.

"Do you need a moment?"

"No, I'm fine."

Fortunately, Prowl did not belabor the point, for which Drift was grateful. "Are you comfortable with Rodimus?"

_What?_ "I - yes? Yes."

"Do you feel safe living here with him?"

"Yes...?" He said, confused now.

"If you feel that you would rather make other living arrangements, you can contact me by calling the Enforcers and requesting me by name. I can give you the contact information of the agencies and nonprofits - "

"Okay, wait. Wait. Okay - do you think Rodimus is _dangerous_?" It was baffling, especially after what Ratchet had said.

Thankfully, Prowl snorted at the mere suggestion. "I assure you Rodimus is dangerous only to himself, when his impulses get away from him. I am simply saying that if you would like to live independently, there are many bots who can help you do that. If you prefer to stay here, you can do that as well. Rodimus was exceedingly vague on why he brought you back here, but he mentioned - " and here, Prowl winced, " - 'Prime-y stuff'. So I am assuming he thinks you will be important to his ability to do his job somehow, or that he thought that as Prime it was his duty - "

"He said the fortune teller femme down the block said I was going to be important to him."

Silence reined. Drift could feel his faceplates heating up, _again_. Prowl looked down at the datapad once more, chewed his lipplates, and then resigned himself to living in a world where Rodimus was still Prime. "Alright. That part's not going in the report." Drift laughed nervously, and he smiled. "I think I have what I need. Thank you for your help, Drift." He plucked the datapad off the table, disappearing it into his subspace, and stood with all the authority invested in him by his door-wing emblems. "I hope you find what you need and, possibly, that it can be found here. Perhaps you will be a stabilizing influence on Rodimus."

Drift jumped to his pedes, startled by the sudden end of their conversation. "Oh. Well, happy to help. And thank you."

Prowl offered his hand, and Drift took it. The handshake was heavy but not too stiff or tight, and he wondered if this was how businessbots felt when they did business-handshakes. Equalized, almost.

Then Prowl turned and made for the door. "I'm leaving, Rodimus. Your mansion is your own once again."

"Thanks for that!" The Prime yelled back. He popped up around the corner of the kitchen area, a plate of oilcake in his grasp. "You're not going to stay and play hooky with us?"

Disapproval, only half-serious, radiated from the doorway. "I think not."

Just like that, the odd copbot was gone.

"Alright?" Rodimus asked, already breaking pieces off the cake to snack on.

Drift took a piece himself. "I'm okay. Prowl was... professional."

"That about sums him up." He popped a bit of cake in his mouth, humming to himself. "Anyway, let's see. Second day, second day. Wanna go see Sunstreaker later and get a new paint and stuff? I think you'll like him. He's a bit surly but his brother Sideswipe will be around too and they're pretty cool. You don't have to go today though, if you don't want."

Drift looked down at himself. He already looked much better thanks to his long bath, but only a fresh coat of paint would erase the many scuffs and scratches that littered his frame. "Yes? If you say they're alright, then I'd be fine with it. I need to get my frame cleaned up anyway."

It occurred to him that he was being presumptuous, since there was no way for him to pay for anything himself, but Rodimus hissed out a ' _yessssss_ ' and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Perfect! Sunny's the best at his job. Did you eat already? Do you want breakfast first or something? I need to call ahead and make sure he's free, so we have plenty of time."

"What's breakfast?"

"Oh, Earth lingo. Morning fuel."

Despite having already fueled, Drift contented himself on the couch (it appeared someone had cleaned it after last night) and nibbled on ZIMO brand GelStix while Rodimus called his friend.

"Those gel sticks," Rodimus said, drumming his fingers on the counsel while the waiting for an answer, "are a shame. And a sham."

"A what?"

"They're a sad attempt at capitalizing on the popularity of rust sticks, without the charm or originality. And they're runnier than the gel sticks made by Loopholes."

"They're in a bowl on your table," he pointed out, failing to hide a smile. "The bowl that was not there yesterday."

"There are a mere three sticks of ZIMO gel amongst my many superior snacks."

_Squish-squish-squish_ went the gel as he sucked it out of the little plastic tube. "Such as?"

"Uh, how about the fifteen different flavored rust sticks? Or the hard diesel candies?"

Drift had never heard of diesel before, but figured it was some fancy treat-creating technique. "I thought you said you liked the original rust stick?"

"There are a few of them, _but_ \- "

"Rodimus?" A black and yellow mech appeared on the screen. He looked as precisely friendly as Prowl had been at first glance, or Ratchet. Funny how someone as boisterous as Rodimus seemed to surround himself with standoff-ish bot (even if Drift had rather liked the medic).

"You win this round," the Prime, tossing one last melodramatic look of disdain at the ZIMO GelStix before turning back to the mech.

Drift snorted and began to root around in the bowl, searching for the so-called superior candy. He missed the sight of Sunstreaker trying to look around Rodimus to see him, but a moment later the two were engaged in quiet conversation, just as he was engaged in trying just a _few_ rust stick flavors. He was nibbling on one of them with a sharp, spicy flavor when an approaching Rodimus unceremoniously threw himself the last few steps into the couch, landing with a rather horrifying crack.

"That's normal, it's supposed to sound like that," the Prime protested as Drift gaped at him in alarm. Then he snatched the half-eaten rust stick from limp fingers and shoved it in his mouth. "By the way, we're heading out in a breem to go to Sunny's."

It turned out that _Sunny's_ was not the name of the place, although Drift privately thought that might be a nice name for a bodyshop. Instead it was known as First Impressions, and it was the exact kind of high end shop Drift would have never dared step pede in, even if he could have afforded it. Fortunately the inside wasn't too intimidating, as it became immediately apparent that there were many rooms for bots to get worked on in private.

"Hot Rod, what took you? I am very busy all day and have no time for anything fun at all!" A bright mass of red rammed into the Prime, nearly knocking him over before the mech proceeded to hoist him up in a hug. Drift could hear the faint _screee_ of metal on metal.

He half-expected security guards to come flying out of every shadow and tackle the mech, but thankfully the only thing that happened was Rodimus laughing as he flailed about wildly. "This is illegal! You are breaking countless ordinances and- haha _hehehe_ \-  you're going to get cited!"

"You don't know what any of those words even mean," the red mech accused as he set him down. There was an obvious note of fondness in his voice. "And I'm being extremely serious. That was the entirety of Sunny's rant this morning."

"Because Sunny hates fun things, I know."

Drift now had second thoughts about letting this Sunny person do anything to his frame. "Uh..."

"Oh! Sides, look who I found!" Rodimus snatched his wrist up and yanked him over, grinning the grin of the thoroughly smug. "We don't know why yet, but he's extremely important."

_Oh Primus if you're real please stop him._ Hot to the tips of his finials, he managed a weak wave. "Hi. I'm Drift. I... guess I just started living with Rodimus yesterday? Because of... a fortune teller?"

Immediately the mech's optics lit up. "Oh scrap, you're _him_." He turned his incredulous look to the Prime. "I didn't realize _this_ was who you were bringing over. You actually went out and found him?"

If he thought he was embarrassed before, he was downright mortified now. How many strangers already knew about him?

"Of course I went out and found him! What else was I supposed to do?"

A new voice cut in, remarkably dry as it said, "Rodimus, most people would have ignored the words of a fortune teller."

The Prime didn't even jump, pivoting to the approaching mech. "The All-Seeing is not just some fortune teller, Sunstreaker. She has a temple!"

From that point, Drift lost the conversation entirely. Sunstreaker lived up to his name effortlessly; his finish was deliriously glossy, and he wondered how the bot went out in public without blinding everyone. His paint was a shockingly bright yellow, but instead of garish, it was simply beautiful. Tracing how the lights reflected off the smooth plating, Drift realized how; the barest hint of various undercoats - a sharp lime green, blaring red, blocky orange and cool blue - gave the yellow an extra dimension and the ability to just barely blend with the surroundings. Just enough to keep it from looking out of place. He only recognized the technique because a femme had come in with something similar (although much less expertly done), and had scraped a bit of paint off in her zeal.

Drift had the sudden thought that he should not be standing anywhere near this mech, let alone in his bodyshop; he instinctively dropped his gaze to the floor.

Just as quickly he was lifting it again, fingers a glass-width from his chin. "Head up. I need to see your face if I'm going to figure out what designs will look best." A brief pause, followed by, "you are well built."

It felt less like a compliment than a statement of fact, and Drift was distracted from his conflicted emotions enough to be confused. Thankfully, Sunstreaker spoke before the situation became uncomfortable. "Alright, come with me. Roddy, take a seat and don't make any trouble."

He heard Rodimus suck in a deep breath, but Sunstreaker was already walking away, and whatever the Prime was going to say fell to a quiet mumble. Drift looked back, but Sideswipe had grabbed the other speedster by the arm to lead him away, so Drift hurried after the golden mech.

Sunstreaker had stepped into one of the many side rooms. Drift wasn't sure what he thought he would find, but a nicely sized tub wasn't it. It was filled with something clear that bubbled cheerfully. "What - ?"

"Acid soak. Your topcoat, if you ever even had one, is practically gone. Your paint is peeling and flaking and going over it is just going to make an even bigger mess. I see one of your digits need to be completely replaced, and while you're clearly _clean_ , you would still benefit from a good stripping. We'll get you down to a proper gray before anything else. I know we have plenty of extra bit parts for speedframes, so just let me see - " Sunstreaker snatched up his hand and held it palm up, glaring at the little chip of metal gone from Drift's finger. "I'll switch this out and get you some sealant for those cracks in your helm. The paint will go over it well enough and your frame will absorb the sealant while healing itself and it shouldn't cause any problems." He dropped his hand and pointed imperiously at the tub. "In."

Drift hesitated, because "acidic" was never something anyone in the Dead End wanted to get near, but figured there was something he was missing.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms, impatience radiating from his field. "It's not going to eat through your plating, if that's what's worrying you."

He dipped one pede in, and before he could second guess himself, stepped in fully. His frame tingled as he slowly lowered himself down, bubbles sneaking under plating to trail over his protoform and delicate inner cables. The heat felt strange, both like steaming water and not, as if he were suspended in that nano-klik before pain registered. Pain refused to come, however, and he slowly relaxed - until a finger poked him in the middle of his forehead.

"Shutter your optics and lay flat. I'll be back in a little over a breem with a pad of color schemes and your new finger. I hate waiting, so just do what I say, alright?"

Drift, figuring Sunstreaker would be in a better mood if his directions were followed, went for politely compliant. "Okay."

"Good," the mech waved his words away as he stepped toward the door. "Just relax and let the acid soak do its magic."

Drift quickly found it wasn't difficult to do. He now remembered that the tub at the Prime's home had a soft acid soak setting, and he'd bet it wasn't strong enough to take the paint off a frame like this. The heat was pleasant in a different way than the hot oil had been, and Drift knew he was not in danger of falling in to recharge the same way. As he soaked, his paint softened and bled off his frame, loose flakes disintegrating as they drifted away. Drift no longer remembered what his native color nanites had been - perhaps a simple factory white for easy addition of colors - but they had long since faded away, leaving only a cheap paint job behind. He vaguely remembered that Slipshod had paid for it, and knew that simply slapping black over white would have been the cheapest option if the mech had wanted him to look more interesting. A few of his smaller abdominal plates had been painted yellow, possibly to make him look more intriguing to potential customers. He expected the color selection had been limited.

Slipshod hadn't painted Drift himself, but the speedster was having trouble recalling who had. One of the other workers, maybe. In the end it all amounted to the same thing; a clumsy attempt at making him look more presentable that slowly fell apart until he was nothing but a visual disaster. The only boon was that he had been patched up and fed enough his repair could fix the handful of injuries he had collected before that fateful day the mech bought his debt.

Musing on his past left a pit of despair and dread in his tank, and Drift prepared to put it all out of his processor when something pinched his finial. He popped out of the acid bath with a yelp, blinking madly to keep the liquid from dripping into his optics. "What?"

"Breem's up." Sunstraker set a single large datapad and a lone finger on a small table. "Step out over the grate - right there - and I'll get the washrack out."

He hadn't noticed the grating before. In fact, Drift had been so distracted by the tub full of acid that he had failed to notice the small table and chair, or the panel on the back wall that Sunstreaker was now poking at. A section of the wall split open and revealed a washrack just big enough for him to fit in without feeling too cramped. "Oh, should I... get in?"

"Well, I can't exactly paint over a plating still dripping with fresh acid, can I? Just stand still and let me work the controls."

Drift's second shower was not like his first. The door closed again, leaving him in a box just small enough to wake up some primal part of his mind that insisted he was now trapped. Cool water was blasted over his frame, at a volume and pressure drastically higher than expected, as if the golden mech's goal wasn't to wash him so much as flood the compartment. Thankfully it was over fast; one nano-klik Drift was under a deluge of thundering water, the next he was buffeted on all sides by a blast of warm air pushing all the stray droplets to the drain under his pedes.

When the door opened, he nearly fell out, and only kept himself on his pedes by grabbing the tub edge.

"Er..." Sunstreaker looked oddly panicked for a moment before he collected himself again. "Perhaps I should have warned you."

"You _think_?"

"You're fine," he insisted, taking his shoulder to guide him to the chair. "Here, have a seat. _This_ is what you've been waiting for."

"I thought I was getting a repaint, not a - a - " He stumbled over his complain when he caught sight of his gray hands.

"Do not mistake me for some third-rate, artless, slapdash operation. I already told you you needed the old coat off. Anyway," he resolutely turned the datapad so it faced Drift, "this is the fun part. You can pick your colors, and if there's a particular configuration in here you want, you can simply choose one of those. Of course I can do alterations or embellishments, and there's a selection of those for you to choose from too. Here's the color selection screen, with warm, cool, dark, or light colors sections, here's the preset color configurations for your frame type, and here's the section for extra details like glitter or pearl or whatever strikes your fancy. Oh, and if you don't like any of the presets, you can choose your colors and then pull up this screen," and here, Sunstreaker tapped the inbuilt keypad to pull up a black outline of Drift's specific model, "and drag and drop where you want the colors." He promptly pushed the datapad towards him and crossed him arms expectantly.

Drift gazed at the suddenly deeply intimidating datapad. "How much is this going to cost?"

"It doesn't matter, Rodimus is paying for it."

_Oh, well, if_ Rodimus _is paying for it,_ he wanted to snark back, but refrained. He was deeply aware of just how much he was relying on the other mech, and hesitated. Room and fuel was one thing, but this was... unnecessary. He didn't _need_ this. They could go to a much cheaper, but still good, shop and get a decent paint job for him and it would be fine.

Sunstreaker sighed. "First of all, if you're thinking of running out of here and going to a much less skilled bot to get the job done - which is literally anyone else - don't. It's an insult. Second, if you think I'm extremely expensive, I would like to think I'm very fairly priced for the amount of effort and talent I put into this. Third, if you're worried about what I think you're worried about, don't be. If you're going to be hanging around Roddy - and I doubt he'll just let you waltz out of his home to go live on the streets again - you're going to want to look nice enough that others won't start asking questions. You can't just walk around with a patchy paint job and live at the Prime's mansion, it will make bots think he's mistreating you. Finally, he gets his detailing and touch-ups done here too, so don't worry about owing him or being a burden. He's incapable of thinking about bots like that anyway." He scoffed at the idea, especially concerning this mech. Rodimus had been immediately consumed with finding the bot the All-Seeing had told him about, and although Sideswipe had been surprised to find Drift standing beside the young Prime, Sunstreaker had not been. "I have the best paints on Cybertron, so if you would _look_ at them..."

Drift twitched at the reminder, but relaxed a little as he leaned over the datapad. He could have never afforded something like this, but Rodimus could, and apparently wanted to. The remainder of his worries melted away as he became absorbed in the paint selection; it was a huge catalog and there were so many different ways the colors could be combined and placements to keep in mind. Truthfully he had never been very attached to his old paint job, but he had always been rather fond of bright, warm colors...

 

"...so I think he's been settling in really well. I already got him to try out the oil bath yesterday and I've been trying not to overwhelm him with stuff but it's not like he couldn't _use_ some nicer things. He's been living off cheap fuel so I think Cacciatore is going to lose his bolts when he gets to cook for him. Oh! He already met Prowl and Ratchet too, so that was good. I don't know when he's going to meet Orion and Megatron and Ultra Magnus, they can be a bit much, but I bet they'd like him."

Sideswipes stared at the rambling Prime, hand pressed to his mouth as he propped his head up. Unsurprisingly Rodimus had launched into a monologue about how he'd met Drift, how Drift's reaction to his being Prime had gone, how he'd jumped on the berth when he'd been given his room, how their conversations had all gone. Rodimus was clearly winding down, his descriptions growing less detailed and his words coming more slowly. Sideswipe took his chance to jump in. "Primus, Roddy, you're talking about him like you're going to get bonded within the decacycle."

"It's not that! He's just - neat. I don't know. I like him. And he got dealt a really bad hand, so..."

_And now you can take care of him and fix everything,_ the red twin didn't say. It wasn't a bad thing, exactly, Rodimus' desire to help and protect. It could blind him and put him in complicated situations, but as Prime he had more than enough busybots around him to keep him from being taken advantage of. Drift did not look like he was capable of doing such a thing, regardless. "Still. Make sure to keep your breaks in mind, alright? Neither of you know what's going to happen or how your relationship is going to develop. He might decide he doesn't want to live with you after a while and move out."

Rodimus scowled and looked away, his field pulling in tight and tense. He right pede started tapping the floor, a rapid _clickclickclick_ starting up. Sideswipe placed his hand on the orange leg. "I don't mean this as an admonishment. I'm just saying, no one knows how this will turn out, not even the All-Seeing. He could just as easily decide to stay with you. He could become your best friend. You might even get an amica out of this - or a conjunx for all I know. Just... " he paused, weighing his words carefully, "don't be afraid to take it slow, okay? You have plenty of time to figure things out."

Rodimus nodded, less sullen. He knew Sideswipe meant well, but it had been a long time since he had last let someone new into his life with the intent of, at the very least, making friends. Not professional allies he could have a chat with at a function, but an actual friend. On top of that, the vagueness of the All-Seeing's words left him eager for the certainty of the future. "Okay. I'll - whoa!"

Just like that, the Prime was on his feet and rushing past Sideswipe. The red mech turned just in time to see Rodimus cry "you look _awesome!_ " before Sunstreaker smacked his curious hands away from Drift's arm.

"Don't touch! It's still setting in and I don't want the new color nanites getting confused if your plating comes in contact with his."

"You said that almost never happened!"

"Discoloration, Roddy. Of his _brand new paint job_. You can wait two more breems!"

Rodimus snorted at the irate twin, and promptly turned his attention to Drift. Sunstreaker must have found extra parts because some of the more ragged plating had been replaced entirely. "You look great. And red!" Heavy red highlights on top of a white base coat and a few dark gray sections of armor to help the colors stand out a bit without looking too flashy. He, personally, approved.

Drift beamed at him. "Thanks."

"Ahem," Sunstreaker said, because he was good at ruining moments.

"Oh! Right, payment."

"That's not what I meant."

At a loss, Rodimus stared at the very intent artist. "Er... thank you for doing a good job with him?"

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. "C'mere."

Confused, Rodimus followed the other just far enough for a little bit of privacy, before Sunstreaker grabbed him by the helm crest and yanked him forward. "Ow! What? Scrap, Sunny!"

"You listen to me. You make sure that bot doesn't get any dumb idea in his processor that he needs to run off and prove he can take care of himself or whatever idiot thing he thinks up. He's not in any condition for that and Primus knows it would do him good to get away from the idea that he needs to earn his keep or be productive to stay off the streets. I know you wouldn't tell him anything like that but when you're in a place like he was, and then suddenly you're _not_ , your processor gets all tangled up in what's going on and what could happen. He needs to not dwell on the fact that he's dependent on you, at least for now. In the future, fine. But not now. And finally," he tweaked the crest he had just released, flashing a quick smile, "if you two get in trouble or something else happens and his paint gets ruined, bring him back here! He could use a little TLC every now and then."

"What'd you think I'm gonna do, chain him to a desk and demand he do all my paperwork and only let him out for walksies?"

"Don't be a brat, this is good advice."

"So I guess this means you approve of him?"

"I wouldn't mind if I saw him every now and then," Sunstreaker admitted. It was the closest he would get to actually saying he liked someone new, and Rodimus grinned.

They returned to find Sideswipe had directed Drift to a proper full-length mirror, presumably so he could admire the new look more. Not that Sunstreaker hadn't given him plenty of time with multiple mirrors, but it was hard to say no when Sideswipe was heaping effusive praise on the newly shiny speedster. Rodimus materialized beside a pink-faced Drift, catching sight of the darkened color nanites. Satisfaction rose within him. He knew Sunny and Sides would deduct the appropriate amount of shanix, and so didn't bother to do anything except watch Drift watch himself.

Rodimus sidled up next to the speedster. "So, have fun?"

"The surprise shower was a bit alarming, but yeah. Sunstreaker's really..." he paused, gaze sliding off to the side in thought. "Um. He's nice."

"When he wants to be." It was said cheerfully enough, and he glanced over at the twins, deep in conversation. This was why he needed Sunstreaker. He highly doubted he held Drift's hand or psychoanalyzed him, but the gold mech's spark was in the right place, and that was what mattered. "Ready to go home? Or we could go somewhere else. I still have the next two days off, unless something terrible happens, but it probably won't."

"I'm fine with going back to the house." The house, the mansion, the mini-palace. He hadn't settled on what to call it in his mind quite yet, but Drift was perfectly satisfied with the day's excitement already.

Seeing as Drift was now in good condition again, Rodimus elected to take them the long way back. They cruised along the longer, less-populated streets, creating a long half-loop back to the house. They spun past the tall, stone walls that housed the crystal gardens, shot past the great bridge that would carry them to Polyhex. He wondered if Drift had ever wanted to travel, like Hot Rod had, to Praxus and Tiger Pax and Blaster City, to see the great Crystal City ruins and it's new city or the Rust Belt or the Mercury Sea. There were so many places they could go, and so many people they could see. If he thought about it too much, Rodimus would find himself overwhelmed again, so he focused on what they could do when they got home. Drift still hadn't seen the small patch of crystal garden yet, or Rodimus's own private garden.

"Do the guards just have to stand outside the gates all day?" Drift asked as they transformed back into rootmode, standing before said gates.

"Yeah, it's a requirement. They can switch out every joor, or later if they feel like it. It's up to what they can get the others to do. Hi, Powerhug! Hey, Landmine."

Powerhug - and Drift did _not_ make a face at the completely adorable name - waved back amicably enough, but the one called Landmine looked jittery. Pede tapping a staccato rhythm, he grimaced at the Prime. "Rodimus, if you see her, please tell Lensflare she's late!"

"Sure!" Rodimus called, but added in an undertone, "I don't think she'll want to leave her patrolling post for gate duty though..."

"Ah," Drift offered, equally quiet. "I see the problem."

"Boring as slag, but I can't really argue against it. Come! Now that we're back, what do you want to do? It's almost lunch time - "

"Another Earth term?"

"Mid cycle fueling time just doesn't roll off the glossa quite the same. You can finally meet Cacciatore if you want! He could make something light that won't mess with your tanks."

"If you want." This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, as Rodimus came to a sudden stand-still and fixed him with a slightly offended look.

"I get to do what I want all the time. What do _you_ want to do?"

"Uh..." Drift's gaze darted from the Prime, to over his shoulder towards the government buildings, to the house they had been walking to. "I don't know? What do you want to do?" He asked, rather helplessly.

The Prime's shoulders rose and his plating puffed up a bit as he opened his mouth - and then his expression changed. "I dunno, what do _you_ want to do?"

Well, that's not fair! Drift almost said, shoulders also rising under the demand, until he saw the glint of amusement in Rodimus's optics, the slightest twitch at the corner of his lipplates. He made a soft huffing noise, which escalated quickly into what could only be called 'strangled giggling'.

The Prime's guarded expression broke under fresh peals of laughter. "Okay, okay,"  he said, only for a stray chuckle to escape. "Um, oh - how about we head in and see what's on the grid?"

"Alright," he agreed, still grinning a little. Perhaps it wasn't that funny, but Drift had never been teased before, and he looked away several times to hide the smile that kept sneaking back onto his face.

"I'll grab some snacks, you get comfy and see if there's anything fun on."

After meeting the twins - particularly Sunstreaker - and going through the somewhat alarming process of letting the gold mech give him a proper paint, Drift didn't see any problem with relaxing on the squishy couch. Wedged comfortably against the arm and back of the couch, pedes tucked up next to him, Drift fiddled with the remote until the viewing screen turned on. Truthfully he had barely taken notice of the large screen until this point, having had little exposure to whatever entertainment or news most bots watched. He had seen a few public news screens in his time, but they had not left much of an impact on him.

Now, though, he found himself looking forward to experiencing something as normal as watching some holovids or reruns of favorite series. He had heard others mention that there were a few dedicated cybertronians who copied and translated human entertainment so it could be replayed on the grid, and wouldn't mind seeing that.

The first thing to come on was not, unfortunately, badly dubbed human soaps or cinema. The late-cycle news was on, and Drift felt his lines freeze up at a recording of himself and the Prime walking together while a newsbot chattered over the visual.

"It seems our Prime has a new companion - possibly even a paramour, if the recent rumors hold any oil. Who is this mystery mech, and why was he in such terrible shape? Our sources indicate he's no celebrity or scientist known to any of the major cities. Could the Prime have picked him up in the slums? So far we've not heard any comments from - "

The words cut off, and Drift looked over his shoulder to see Rodimus had snatched the remote up and muted it. "Tabloids."

"What? You mean news bots?"

"Nope! I mean tabloids." Rodimus set the fuel tray on the table. "Don't worry about it."

"But they said - "

"Drift! I mean it. Seriously. _Don't even worry_. I went racing with Blurr once and they tried to say we'd been secretly dating." He hopped up on the couch, pulled a little soft round thing from underneath it, pulled a second one out, and propped his pedes on the first.

Drift squinted. "You mean Blurr? _The_ fastest racer on - "

"Ooooh, he knows who Blurr is but not the current Prime! Typical. That one's for you, by the way," he added.

Drift looked down, confused, and cautiously set his pedes on the poofy looking thing. It promptly smooshed beneath them. "Huh."

"Human thing again. Anyway, let's watch some movies. You pick," he ordered before shoving the remote in Drift's hands.

The poof ended up squeezed against his chest while they binge watched a horror anthology centered around empties. Drift was not going to pretend he wasn't a little spooked, even when the frames had clearly been augmented to mimic the early golden age style of frames and very gaudy colored bots ran around screaming in horror for far too long. They both cracked up when one of the actors slipped and nearly face-planted into a junk pile, looking legitimately startled in the middle of his agonized monologue. The short film where poor bots were being kidnapped by scientists and experimented on honestly creeped him out, and the romance story between Throttle and her once-bonded Flareout (now an empty wandering their ruined city) inexplicably made him sad.

"Awww," Rodimus said when Throttle followed Flareout into the wasteland after the femme had saved her from a pack of scavengers.

"What 'aw'? She's going to end up as an empty!"

"Yeah, but they'll be empties _together_."

Drift groaned while the Prime cackled to himself and crunched on circuit chips. The chattered quietly throughout the films as Rodimus pushed odd treats and goodies at him. Drift already knew Ratchet wouldn't be pleased if he didn't keep up with proper fueling, so he dutifully sipped at a mixture of midgrade and medgrade between bites. "What next?"

"How do you feel about human cinema?"

"I've never even met a human, but - "

Instantly, Rodiumus slapped both hands down and lost all interest in what was on screen. "Oh! Do you want to? I can introduce you to the ones that come to Cybertron all the time. Bumblebee's friends with nearly all of them, except Raoul. Raoul's only friends with Tracks, because Tracks is a human-hogger."

"A human _what_ -er?"

"He went to Earth and Raoul tried to kidnap him and I guess that's what does it for Tracks because they're inseparable. And insufferable.  Okay, Tracks isn't _awful_ , but he's kind of a twit. Sunny hates him."

"How did - wait, I thought humans were tiny! How would he _even_ \- "

"Tracks fell asleep and Raoul thought he was a normal Earth car. Sooooo he carjacked him. And then Tracks woke up and it almost ended badly, but everything is fine now." Rodimus waved his hands around as he spoke, less to illustrate what he was saying and more to emphasize how not huge of an issue a human trying to kidnap a Cybertronian was. "Raoul's okay, though. He and Carly like learning about how to do the more finicky stuff since they're so small. And then there's," here, his lips thinned as he tried not to laugh, "Spike, and - "

"I'm sorry, there's who?" _No_ , Drift thought. _No, no, and no._

"Spike," the Prime repeated, struggling not to keep his face under control. "And his dad Sparkplug. And their friend Chip! And there's these kids named Sam and Mikaela who found Bee when he was sleeping behind an empty DQ - "

Drift raised his hand palm-out, expression severe. "No, stop. Stop. Go back. Spi- "

"And, um, who else, Powerglide's 'totally just a friend' Astoria and Megatron's 'absolutely not even a friend' Dr Arkville - "

"Rodimus!" Drift howled, and the Prime spilled over on to his side, great howls of laughter wracking his frame.

"It's a nickname!" He wailed when Drift smacked him with a poof. "A nickname, I swear!"

"You're lying!"

"I'm not! Humans call it something completely diffHRMPH."

Red hands scrabbled madly at his shoulders as Drift laid all his weight on the pillow currently being used to smother the Prime. "I don't believe you," he wheezed, just as hands grabbed him around the hips and dragged him downward. The pillow slid with him, revealing Rodimus's grinning face.

"Didn't believe me when I said I was Prime, either," he pointed out before jamming his fingers in between Drift's side plating and _wiggling_.

The sound that came of out Drift was not even close to Cybertronian; a gasp and a shriek merged into one strangled sound, and he tumbled over the frame he had had pinned just a moment ago. "No! Rod- Roddy! I'll kill you!" He cried, scrunching up in to a ball to protect himself. "I swear!"

A very smug reply of "It's illegal to threaten a Prime with assassination, you know," came from somewhere near his helm. He took the brief pause to snatch both hands and pin them down by their sides, heaving gasps and twitching from the over-stimulation of being tickled.

"Not if no one knows about it," he replied, lacking a better response.

Roddy's smile was all denta, but it was the overwhelmed sort of grin that came from not being able to control it. Drift released his hands and slithered back into his spot and watched Rodimus push himself up and pull his legs back into his own space, leaving a gap between them. Drift's systems were still dizzy and hot, confused by the friendly play-fighting. He appreciated the offered space, even more so when Rodimus plopped the bowl of half-devoured circuit chips between them. 

"Okay. Human movies. I got this. So, there's this movie about a human called Marty McFly..."

 

The movie marathon concluded several joors later. Humans had a wealth of interesting movies despite the younger age of their species, and the 'eighties' were a very interesting time to Rodimus. At least on the continent he had been on much of the dominant media and popular culture was caught somewhere between rebellious and covered in rhinestones. He loved it, and he loved the strange ways the human adorned themselves and the outsider personalities of their movie heroes. He went to recharge secure in the belief that Drift had enjoyed himself, if the copious laughter and occasional entranced silences were anything to go by.

Rodimus woke up to the horrifying realization that he had slept through five missed messages; two from Orion, two from Megatron, and one from Magnus.

_An unexpected reviewing of a potential financial backer for the restoration of the Rust Narrows is set for 0900 this morning. Please arrive within a quarter joor of the meeting - Ultra Magnus [0640]_

_Magnus is worried you've placed his messages on ignore for your vacation and asked if I would send you a reminder to check them - Orion [0730]_

_Rodimus, it is not my job to make sure you check your messages. I'm not even employed by you or anyone you employ. Don't let it happen again - Megatron [0810]_

_Your meeting with a very rich person who wants to help fund a revitalization project for the Rust Narrows happens within the oncoming joor, Rodimus - Orion [0840]_

_If you don't get down here in five minutes I'm coming up and getting you - Megatron [0850]_

_I'm on my way! Don't come up here and don't cancel the meeting!!!_ He sent in a burst of coordinates and pure dread. 0850? If he were any slower he might be late.

"Drift! _Drift!_ " He flung the door open with too much aplomb and his friend jolted awake with a curse. "Sorry! I have to go to a meeting for a bit because SOMEONE doesn't know what the word VACATION means but I'll be back soon, okay?"

Drift, emerging from his tangle of comforters and blankets, said "what?"

"I'll be back in a little while! Do whatever you want, eat whatever, go wherever, call Ratchet if something happens okaybyeDriftsorry." He was down the hall and sliding down the banister by the end of his words. It was quicker to jump but far more fun to slide down, and he knew one day he would land wrong and crash into something - and he was already on the verge of being late enough. He flew out the front door, skidding right and tore down the lovely rock path to the proper government buildings. He spotted the edge of the crystal garden behind the house from the corner of his optic, the long white wall that circled the grounds broken by the occasional ornamental hanging crystals or symbolic sculpture, and skid to a stop before he bashed in the door.

_[0858]_

He focused on his internal clock for a half-klik and smiled. Would that Cybertronians wore suits, or even capes like they once did, he would have straightened his but all Rodimus did was lift his head and stride into the main building.

Despite the fact that two of them did not officially work here, all three of his early morning wake up callers were present and waiting for him. He smiled graciously at them in turn, nodding with each greeting. "Orion. Megs. Mags."

Megatron grimaced, as did Ultra Magnus, but Orion only tipped his head at the first hallway. "Third door on the right. Good luck." 

 

Drift, given the chance to roam the mansion-palace without supervision, chose to go back to sleep for another joor. His bed was so big and comfy, he could not resist it's siren call to recharge. Especially since he had a fully stocked minifridge within reach.

However, even those luxuries failed to hold his interest once his energy levels were at their maximum and his processor refused to initiate recharge one more time. Drift found he even felt a little odd - grogginess from over-recharge was not a feeling previously known to him - and dragged himself out of his room to the downstairs. He hadn't realized it before, but the mansion was exceedingly quiet without the Prime around.

_Do whatever, eat whatever, go wherever..._

...and he was hungry again.

"Well hello there! I thought you might hide upstairs all day and I wouldn't get to see you."

"Holy scrap!" Drift leapt off the couch, whirling around to see a mech in soft pinks and light, creamy yellows.

This new mech did not look particularly perturbed to be screamed at by a complete stranger. He smiled, amused but with enough manners not to laugh openly. "Maybe I should have made some noise?"

"Who are you? Security? A senator?" They seemed equally likely.

His optics rounded in faux shock. "He didn't mention me?"

Oh no. Maybe this was worse than a politician - maybe this was a _boyfriend_.

"I'm sure he must have at least fed you the treats I made."

"Oh. Oh!" His face grew warm. "You're Ca- Cacch-i-tor?"

"Cacciatore." He held out his hand, grinning when Drift accepted it. His fangs had a pearly shine. "I usually stay in my house and go about my business unless Rodimus calls me, but he mentioned a new guest and I had to swing by."

"Nice to meet you."

"So polite. Since I'm here, do you want something?"

"Um... I think I'm okay, you probably have other stuff to do - "

"Nonsense!" The chef leaned across the couch, seized his arm, and walked them both around it until they could stand side by side. "I know Rodimus tries not to be demanding but he so loves my work, I know you will too. You must have eaten something you want more of - did you like the gelled treats? The gourmet crisps? What about the battered fuel goodies or the oil cakes? Please tell me he at least gave you the oil cake."

The hold on his arm was loose enough he didn't pull away by reflex, but it was a near-miss. The torrent of words did a lot more to distract him than the friendly field or careful touch, and Drift winced as he ran through his memory bank. "Uh, I think he fed me the oil cake? And he let me take a lot of treats back to my room."

Cacciatore's optic ridge went up. " _Just_ some treats?"

"Oh. I meant consumables. He let me take a lot - I can't help but think of them as 'treats'."

They came to a stop before the kitchen, and the chef released the arm in his grasp to scan the mostly-clean space. "Alright, then, do you have any special requests? An old favorite? I'm sure I can recreate - "

"It's fine, really. I've only ever drank plain fuel before this, and I don't know much about consumable styles..."

Cacciatore was heartbroken. "They're called _recipes_ , dear, not styles," he said helplessly. He sucked in a deep pull of air - an odd habit he had picked up from his newest Prime - and straightened his spinal strut. "But I think I can whip up something you'll _love_."

At Cacciatore's prompting, Drift hopped up on one of the counters, answering the occasional question as the chef set to work. The mech handed him a single cube, the light teal color only detectable when he held it up to the light. It was the most delicate blend of energon he had ever drank, faintly sweet with a strange, cool taste to it. He watched the other mix a foggy blue oil and energon blend until they meshed together before heating it on the stove until it roiled. The mech poured the mixture into two ceramic containers ("gifts from Earth, the humans actually have kilns big enough to cook them in!"), and then quickly topped one off with a liquid silver and the other with what appeared to be shredded bits of thin metal before popping them into the oven. "Two oil custards with foil crust and carmelized gallium crust, I couldn't decide which. Hm. How's the blend?"

"Light," he replied instantly. "I like it. It tastes... cold?"

"The humans have this plant on Earth called mint that Rodimus brought back. I did not ingest it, of course, but my scent receptors picked it up and I analyzed the chemical makeup. There is something somewhat similar on our planet called the Extergeo plant, known as Clarity root in the medical field. It can clear out very basic impurities from our systems, and it has that clean, cool taste. Very cheap, but I like to use it every so often."

With that explanation, he took a covered tray out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter, taking two small oil cakes off it. He reached for a line of jars in a double rack and hesitated. "Astrophyllite or Apophyllite? Hnn. Maybe both?" He pulled two jars closer, took a single scoop of minerals from each and roughly crumbled them between his palms before sprinkling them over the cakes. "I think Chrysocolla would look best." He pulled two bright, deep-blue minerals from a third jar and placed each atop a cake, twisting and pressing down to make sure they stuck properly.

Drift had never even tasted plain quartz bars before, but his mouth still watered at the sight of the blue crystal. He gladly fished out one of those pronged utensils Rodimus had showed him during the kitchen tour and dug in when Cacciatore slid the plate over to him. The mineral crunched wonderfully, slightly chalky inside but dissolving fast. "Primus, I love it. Thank you - "

"I knew you would," the chef said, but it was spoken with a laugh.

He watched the mech blend and cut and crush, taking the two... cakes? out of the oven half-way through. He crafted a strange blend of pink, viscous energon with gelled oil beads that sat at the bottom that burst when Drift chewed on them. He battered hunks of circuits, frying them in electro-oil and whipped up a thick mercury sauce for dipping. He took each left over oil cake and gently rolled them in a bowl of unidentifiable powder before replacing them on the tray and returning them to the refrigerator. As Drift watched, Cacciatore piled the chips on a wide platter, set a small bowl of sauce on the side, both (what Drift now knew were called) custards, and removed the tray of gelled fuel from the chiller to reveal each slice had attained a thin crust and moved a few onto the platter before placing everything back where it came from and stacking the used pans and bowls into what appeared to be a tiny shower.

"Dishwasher," he explained at Drift's puzzled reaction. "Follow me."

In short order Drift found himself back on the couch, with Cacciatore setting the platter on the low table. "Alright, I must be off now, but my number is in the comm station list so feel free to call me if you need something or even just want to talk! I don't know how long you'll be here but you're a guest at this ridiculous place so I can swing by if you want. Tell Rodimus I say hi when you see him next, would you?"

He had never had anyone fuss over him quite like Cacciatore did, and thrust out his hand before the other could disappear. "Thank you so much, Cacciatore. For, um, you know. It was nice meeting you."

"Please, the joy was mine. It's so nice to see someone else here, Rodimus barely has anyone over." He squeezed the white hand in his own, flashing a grin as he straightened up. "I'm off. Enjoy yourself, Drift."

He was not as gifted at small talk as he would like, so Drift only nodded in silence. He didn't flinch when the friendly bot patted him on the shoulder, but he did slump back on the couch once he heard the front door close. Quiet enveloped him once again, and he popped a circuit chip into his mouth and crunched on it, looking around the lounge are for something to do. Maybe the holovids would be a good idea?

Drift found the layout of the grid had several different options; holovids, news again (no), reruns of alien-created movies and series, one dedicated entirely to human media, and finally something called Net. He selected it and -

"Top ten cutest mechanimal videos?" Who would even create such a thing, let alone enough to be ranked? Who did this, bored towers mechs? If the curiosity Drift felt was not exactly tinged with positive emotions, it at least was enough to get him to select the recording to satisfy it. A shaky camera view came into sight, which quickly settled and focused once someone put it down. They appeared to be in a very sparse area out in the wilds, places Drift had heard of but certainly never saw. Something pretty and flashy rolled around in the electro grass, a fat tale flopping over only to be obscured again. He squinted at the screen, the camera zoomed in, and a silver turbofox lifted its head to peer around itself. Something smaller and darker appeared over it's shoulder, face tipped upwards, sniffing the air. Drift watched in silence as the turbofox rolled onto it's back, briefly squashing the petrorabbit before it wriggled free and crawled onto it's belly. The petrorabbit stretched one little pede and shook it, the fox lifted its head from the grass to stare, and the bot holding the camera giggled.

A red 10 in the corner of the screen switched to a 9, and the scene transitioned to the inside of a white, brightly lit home. "I found a friend for Zipper," someone said as they walked through a hallway towards a simple curtain. The bot pushed the curtain aside and crossed what was clearly a berthroom. On the floor next to the berth showed a pile of fluff on the floor upon which a big, lanky hound rested. It had a sharp, hard face that nonetheless looked very cute asleep. A tiny wriggling ball popped out of the tangle of its legs. One ear went flat and then up and forward to join its twin, staring straight at the camera. The cat gaped at the bot watching them before gambling wildly over the hound, earning a muffled groan as the hound turned over and kicked out its back feet. The zapcat went skittering into the camera.

The 9 turned into an 8. "Someone went hiking today." A baby petrorabbit was walking atop a table, clearly still getting the hang of "pedes" and all the benefits they entailed. Without any warning the rabbit promptly slipped off the table with a thump and the femme yelped in alarm. The next moment she was pushed aside as a hound shoved past her legs and enclosed the tiny rabbit in its jaws before ferrying it away to a pile of blankets across the room. The camera shook wildly as the bot swung to catch the action, and then settled on the hound's long tongue bathing a strip up the rabbit's face. "Oh Primus, we lost custody."

"Heh," Drift huffed, tucking his pedes up so he could put the bowl of chips in his lap.

Ten videos turned into fifteen, and then thirty, and before Drift knew it an entire joor had passed. Propped up on his side with pillows, Drift shoved the last crystal jelly into his mouth, optics wide as he watched a ridiculous amount of baby birds get mothered and corralled by a few giant hounds who nosed and nuzzled and drooled over them when they got too close to a face. The group was outside, and along the back fence Drift could see a few the beginning of a small crystal garden. He was instantly knocked out of his reverie as he remembered that Rodimus had said there was a crystal garden behind the manor. He had been doing nothing but laying about and eating for far longer than he was used to, and he swung his pedes to the ground. A pillow rolled off the side of the couch and onto the floor. Maybe he should get up and stretch for a bit, and see whatever the crystals offered? Curiosity piqued, Drift pushed everything back into order on the couch and bounded out the front door. His tank fuller than usual and exposed to the glare of the sun, Drift wavered for a moment once he was outside and took a klik to steady himself.

The garden was right around the corner, but the corner was actually a ways away. He followed the walkway, marveling at the glittering nature of it in the sun and how bots just walked on it all the time, and lifted his head to see -

"Holy slag," he muttered, tracing the borders of the 'small' garden with his optics. A monsterous slice of a geode stood proudly over the walkway, forming a glittering gate into the garden. It was absolutely for show, as the border around the garden was no more than ankle high, but it was beautiful anyway. Deep purple crystals dusted with flakes of gold welcomed him as he passed through it, and from there the simple concrete walkway had been cut and carved into the shape of a blooming white flower, backdropped by a bed of deep green. The new jade path wove about the garden, splitting around a spiraling geometric chunk of Bismuth sitting on a plinth. He circled around the oil slick colors, thinking the look of it would be something that Sunstreaker would be able to make into a feasible paint or decoration for frames.

Great white and pink quartzes shined invitingly, reflecting the cooler colors of greens and blues back at him as he inspected each mineral. A dense slab of chrysocolla sat next to peachy serandite, black hubernite had latched onto pyrite, and green uvarovite and pink-red grossular garnets had been placed on a rough circle of darkly gleaming biotite. Drift did not know the names of every single mineral and crystal, but they were pretty and textured enough that he wondered how many were edible and if Cacciatore ever took any for his recipes. A shock of pink halite emerging from dark brown stone had his mouth watering. Reds, pinks, blues and teals and greens, purples and oranges and blacks and whites all reflected off each other, some of them catching and throwing sunlight to give the surrounding area an almost glowing appearance. 

Drift took a seat on a bench of carved black stone to relax and poked around a short, small table with a glass case. Muscovite bits stirred around his finger, and he gently crushed a small flake of it to see how it felt. Tourmeline, cinnabar, and the small cube of gold were all so tempting he was briefly overcome with the urge to nibble at them, but held it down. Everything around him was simply too pretty to eat, so he admired it all in silence instead, letting the serenity soak in and take hold.

 

"The Rusty Restoration Project is a-go!" Rodimus held up his hand for a high-five, and was tragically not obliged.

Ultra Magnus winced. "Please tell me you did not really name it that."

Orion, who had been huddled over (what else?) a datapad with Megatron just a moment prior, turned his attention to the current Prime and gave him his high-five. It was a very weak high-five, as if Orion thought he was made of aluminum foil, but it was better than nothing. "It's not as if that would be very far from the actual name."

"See? He gets it. Hey," he said, spotting a few scrawled and not typed words on the datapad Megatron was holding, "what're those?"

Megatron immediately shoved it into his subspace. "Nothing."

"I recognize that, that was _your_ messy scrawl."

"How would _you_ know what my hand-writing looks like?"

Rodimus turned his big, innocent optics to Orion, who looked away. Megatron's jaw dropped. "You _didn't_."

"He found it in my desk! It was only a few of your notes."

"In his defense, you were distracting him."

"Rodimus," Ultra Magnus ground out before either mech could reveal inappropriate actions that may have happened during lunch breaks at the local precinct, "do you not wonder why we are still waiting for you?"

The brightly colored mech took a quick step away from a very pink-face miner. "Um. Because you all support me?"

Orion said "yes" just as the other two said "no" and shot them disapproving looks. "Well, _yes we do_ , but that is not why we're here."

"Who is that mech you've been seen with?" Megatron demanded, even as the former Prime whispered his name in a condemning tone. "Is it true he's living with you?"

"Who told you!?"

"You're on the news, Rodimus," Orion helpfully reminded him.

"Oh. Well. Yes? Yes." He nodded to himself, as the stray mech did not seem as keen on leaving or worried about being kicked out as he had when he first arrived. "Drift is living with me."

"Drift? And where did you find this 'Drift'? And why have we not been introduced to him?"

"What are you, my state-mandated guardian? We've been busy! You can meet him later." Rodimus had honestly wanted Drift to meet the three very important mechs that stood before him, but the vague feeling of being ambushed left him feeling contrary. "Primus, he's still settling in! I don't want you scaring him off. Or you."

Megatron and Ultra Magnus both frowned at the implication that they would terrorize some random mech the Prime had brought back, but the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was the one to ask, "is there any chance this mech is dangerous?"

Rodimus snorted. " _No_."

Megatron opened his mouth - probably to argue - but Orion cut in with a soft, "alright, that's enough. I told you he doesn't need mother-henning."

"That is not a real phrase."

"Fine, but I expect we _will_ meet him at some point in the future."

"Yeah, sure, later. Can I go now?"

They exchanged looks over his helm, because they were tall enough to do that, and the miner relented first. "It's not as if you need our permission, Rodimus _Prime_."

He stuck his glossa out at their retreating backs, but stopped at the light touch to his shoulder. Orion had lingered to say, "I told them you would not like their prying, but I don't think they're wrong to worry. When he is feeling up to it, I would like to meet your new... friend?"

"Um, yes. Friend. And I said okay, just not right now and not all at the same time."

"I look forward to it."

He wondered if Drift would look forward to it too. Well, he already sort of knew who they were, and he had liked Ratchet and Sunstreaker, right?

Primus he had left Drift alone for almost a joor and a half. If he had known the meeting would lead to actual planning and contracts being written up and signed after negotiations he would have warned him he would be gone that long. _He probably refueled like Ratchet said, right?_ As much as he did trust his new friend, nothing stopped him from speeding over to his home and running inside. "Drift! Hey, Drift? I'm back. Sorry it took so long..." No white plating was spotted in the lounge room, or the kitchen. Confused, he checked Drift's room - maybe he was napping? - and then the wash room when he couldn't find him there. Feeling a little panicky, he ran back downstairs to double check. "Drift!"

He stopped, hand on his hips, when he saw the tray of mostly-devoured goodies. Some of those were definitely new. Drift had clearly been eating and probably watching holovids, so where the heck was he now? Drift didn't come looking for _him_ , right? Back outside he went, certain the missing mech hadn't left the grounds.

"Why didn't I get his frequency - hey, Nightbird!"

A purple and white femme lifted her head from the light doze she had fallen into. Acid yellow optics glinted at him from under the shadow of the wall she was leaning against, but her voice was bored and monotone. "Hi, Rodimus. What are you doing out?"

"Have you seen a racerframe mech with red highlights wandering around?"

"You mean Drift? We all know his name, you know. News travels fast when you've got nothing to do but stand around and gossip. Let me ask." She pulled her communicator from subspace and demanded, "where is Drift?"

"Who wants to know!"

" _I_ want to know, Cloudburst."

"Fiiiine. Saw him at the garden half a joor ago."

"Garden, Prime," Nightbird spoke as if she had no idea that he could hear every word she and Cloudburst had said, but he could see the slight twitch of her lip.

He did not roll his optics and thanked her for her help instead, and shot off toward the garden. He wondered if Drift had tried any of the micas or if he even knew they were for eating. Well, if he wasn't completely bored of it they could sit and chat for a little while -

The garden was empty. "What?" He demanded, circling around the large geode at the forked paths, touching the flat seat as if it might hold some of the heat from Drift's frame, or other clues. Drift was absolutely not here; had they somehow passed each other?

_Think. If I were new and probably bored and curious, where would I go?_

Not that he thought he was anything like Drift, but he personally would follow the path to see if it lead to anyone or anything useful. If he might wander off the path and get into areas he wasn't supposed to be at was irrelevant.

Sure enough, Rodimus followed the path back out of the crystal garden and back behind the main building, and found his own personal garden had acquired a single racer.

"Do you know what this place is?"

His new friend didn't jump or twitch, seated on the soft grass and running his fingers over rough bark. "Are these from an organic planet? From your Earth?"

"Well, it's not really my Earth, but yes. Everything in here is from Earth." He settled in and took the space near Drift, not quite under the shade of the single largest tree he had ever seen. "This one is a sequoia. I keep thinking it's stopped but it just keeps growing. I call it The Favorite."

"You mean it's your favorite?"

"No, it's Megatron's favorite." Drift snorted at him. "He didn't say so, but it totally is."

"So this is a _se-quo-ia_. What're those short stubby ones on the sand?"

"Those are my cactuses! Cacti. I have eight different kinds of cactus. This mech named Hound was on the expedition with me and he lost his nuts and bolts when it came to Earth wildlife, and he showed me these plants humans call succulents and one type that grows in desert climates are the cactus. And I told these people living out in the desert I really liked them and at one point after I helped fix a contamination with the river they lived near they went and dug up one for me as a gift and I," he sucked in a deep breath, "sort of started collecting them from different areas and then I mentioned succulents - here, look," he got up and waved Drift over to a stone bench, right near the pond. He needed the pond to keep the plants alive, and was absolutely certain it was money well spent in landscaping a place for organic flora to survive.

Rodimus picked up the largest clay bowl the humans had given him, and it fit just perfectly in the palm of his hand. "So, look, these are succulents. This one is a haworthia, this one is a string of pearls, an echevaria, this is a tigerjaw and you can't water them too much or they will explode and it's a very disappointing experience. These are a type called aloe veras and the humans use the liquid in them for taking care of their skin? Or something? They're really soft and firm but they squish very easily. Oh, and these are called - "

Drift sat back and watched the Prime list off plant after plant after plant, pointing to each in turn and giving a brief description or fact about each. It dawned on Drift just how ridiculous this moment in his life was, sitting on alien flora and watching the ruler of their planet explain just why it was important for the hens and chicks and stonecrop to get the right amount of sunlight because then it turned a pinkish red but too much sun and it would shrivel and burn. Once Rodimus ran out of words he muttered, "this is an entire miniature forest behind your giant house-mansion."

"I like to hide from my actual work here."

He huffed out a startled laugh. "Is that why you're here now? Hiding from work?"

"More like I was wondering where everyone's favorite bot had got to and if he'd expired from boredom. Since, you know, I kind of got pulled away for longer than I expected and left him alone with no real explanation."

"I was _fine_. I met Cacciatore and he made me some new things to eat, and I guess I kind of learned more about fuel and goodies? So that was interesting."

"Isn't he _fun_?"

Drift thought back to the effusive energy Cacciatore naturally gave off and the ridiculous amount of work he made look practically effortless. "He's... very... friendly. And generous." His smile turned amused. "He said you hardly have anyone over."

"You can tell Cacciatore I am a social butterfly the next time you see him."

He wasn't sure what a butterfly was but he understood the other mech nonetheless. Drift let out a long sigh of relaxation and laid down on the grass and let himself feel the heat of the sun on his legs, where the shade didn't reach. He remembered something Cacciatore said and engaged his scent receptors. There were foreign smells, odd in that they were not sweet but not bitter, either. They seemed to settle on his glossa when he inhaled and if he focused his optics he could make out tiny bits of debris floating on the sunlight, doubtless from the plants and dirt and grass. He shifted his pedes and from beneath them came the crunch of millions of miniature blades of green.

Rodimus was staring at him, _rebutia muscula_ in his lap, panda plants and cushion cactus and a thick length of burro's tail hanging off the side. He fiddled with the length of succulent trailing against his thigh, dragging his fingers over the narrow, braided leaves. Drift tilted his helm at him and said, "what?"

The Prime twitched. "Nothing. Just, did you want to go get some fuel and bring it back here? It's been a while since I did that."

"We can have our fuel out here?"

"Drift, we can have our fuel _anywhere_. Come on, let's go."

They had their energon in the garden, and Rodimus regaled him of his tale with the investor and the many miles of datawork he had to go through because it's protocol and technically not legally binding it he didn't. Energy and near-giddiness shone from his optics and barely leashed movements. It had been taking forever to acquire the funds for the Rust Narrows rejuvenation project he wanted to get to work on. The Council had refused to cough up the full funding immediately, instead preferring to either slowly let funds build up from extra taxes or to promise to meet him halfway if he could secure the credits. Rodimus had elected for the second option, because the other would just take too long and the citizens who lived in and around the Rust Narrows did not have a lot of credits to begin with. While Rodimus had thrown his own money in with the project, there was a cap on funds for individual projects he could give. Luckily the backer, an up and coming entrepreneur who had created some virtual platform or program that was proving very popular with multiple scientific institutions had elected to throw a significant slice of credits towards the Rust Narrows. It had been a little less than half needed, and with his own credits Rodimus could take it to the Council and now they'd have to give the rest to him.

_Chatterbox_ , Drift thought fondly, watching Rodimus gradually wind down after his excitement.

"So what did you do, besides meet Cacciatore?"

"Um. I watched videos of mechanimals?"

Rodimus laughs, of course. Once their meal is done they pack everything back up, making sure to put the plants back. They sit in front of the TV, going over the next weeks schedule between comments on the decision making skills of the main characters. Rodimus has fully embraced the All-Seeing's prophecizing that Drift was going to be important, _somehow_ , and figured it had to be related to Rodimus being Prime. His attitude about it felt more in tune with a fun little adventure, rather than making life-altering decisions, and so when he proposed that Drift simply come back with him to work, Drift agreed. Why shouldn't he familiarize himself with the world his Prime inhabited day in and day out? His only reservation was that one way or another someone was going to object.

"Is that allowed? Can I just - isn't there paperwork?"

"I'm the Prime, Drift. I can give you clearance."

Rodimus wanted to show him his office, his hoverchair and the various office supplies stuffed around everywhere. He has an itinerary, and it's weird to think about someone who acts like Rodimus sitting at a desk, fancy or no, and reading datapads and taking comm calls. He learned that the former Prime, Orion, wanted to meet him, and the miner Megatron and the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord do too. "I promise not to dump them all on you at once," his friend said with an upside down wink, legs kicked up over the arm of the couch, his head near Drift's knee. He has a lunch date disguised as a meeting with Bumblebee and his minibot friends, several of whom worked in construction, and thought the racer would like them.

With thoughts of a busy week ahead - and it is so bizarre to think he's going to be wandering around important bots with important jobs in the very near future - they turn off the TV early. Rodimus says he's going to turn in, and that Drift can stay downstairs if he wants, but the speedster waves it away. He wants one more bath before turning in, slight insecurity pushing him to make sure he's clean after the day in the organic garden. It's less an indulgence this time, but he still sinks to the bottom until boiling heat suffuses his joints and leaves him sleepy and calm.

Drift hasn't had this many good days in a long time, and he knows he hasn't been given a reason to think they'll come to a permanent end any time soon. Friendly bots, good fuel, much more than a warm berth to recharge on and a powerful, accommodating host are what bots in his situation dream of. As he crawls onto the high berth, sinking in to the thick and fluffy bedding, it doesn't even occur to him to feel anxious about tomorrow.

Maybe that was his mistake. Maybe if he worried about himself, about Rodimus, about the reporters and public news cycle and the fact that their meeting was literally part of a mystical message handed to the Prime by the oracle Herself, he would have been prepared. But Drift, for once in a terribly long time, had not worried, and so when he fell into recharge all he felt was the faint comfort of unconsciousness slipping away before he plunged into pure panic and horror.

A towering golden temple burned and splintered apart, the sky-blue stained glass long destroyed on the stones below. He could hear a low wail of pain, a million creatures crying out from far away, swallowed up by the crackle of fire. His hands ached as if they'd been plunged into a smelter, his fingers were bent and twisted and half-gone, and he tucked them against his abdomen, trying not to crumple to the ground in defeat. There was a burst of pain and light, and something shrieked and Drift forced himself into a run. This was Iacon. _This_ was Iacon? Everything was decrepit; underneath the flames were broken homes and rusted buildings, worse than the worse of the Dead End. He felt -

He knew.

Everyone left, because, because -

Why did they leave? Guilt struggled up from the pit of his tank, confusing him, slowing him down. What happened? Drift could see other Cybertronians from the corners of his optics, movement registering just on the edge of his vision, but when he turned to look there was nothing.

Even when his optics began to twinge and itch, he could still see blurs of black, scorched frames moving. He turned his helm towards a scream, one that built and built and seemed to bury itself in his brain module. He saw the shape of someone, bent over a still and half-gone body, that ugly sound going on and on, and Drift realized finding someone was much worse than not.

There was a faint pop; wetness trailed down his cheek. His fingers came away with bits of glass stuck in optical fluid.

It was too hot. He couldn't access his internal readouts, but it was too hot for the more delicate parts of his frame. Shadows appeared in the wreckage in the not-view of his ruined optic, watching him hesitate.

_Where is Rodimus?_

The thought sends of jolt of despair through him, but he doesn't know why. He turns around, he can't have gotten too far from the temple, and the temple is supposed to be close to the Prime's residence, but absolutely nothing looks familiar. For a half-klik, or a breem, or a century he thinks he's back in his old hovel in the Dead End, before he met Slipshod, but the colors are all wrong and the buildings are too tall -

Hands seize him from behind, breaking against his plating even as his vision goes blurry. He brings his arms up, heedless of the damage to his hands, punching and tearing in a silent frenzy as more of the survivors - are they survivors? - amass and crowd him, striking and clawing at him. His fear spirals into hysteria, why can't he scream, where is this _where is he_

Drift wakes up.

In the night cycle, his ceiling is a deep blue. The shadows of his room are black and they do not move. His fingers ache, and it takes his full focus just to unwind them from their twisted grip on the sheets. That is the most painful thing his frame experiences in that moment - minor twinges from grabbing his fancy bedding too hard. His body's equilibrium rights itself instantly. Drift is laying on his back, not standing in a dead city. The air in his room is cool. There is no one else here, and the only sound is his shifting in the berth as he sits up.

There is no one in his room but him, and that is a greater problem than he ever thought possible.

 

Something sent every proximity sensor in his frame alight, forcing Rodimus into a quick-boot. He grumbled - it felt like he had just gone into recharge, surely it wasn't morning? A quick check of his chronometer showed that the night cycle had barely begun. Confused, Rodimus rolled onto his side to see what had woken him up.

There, in the pale shadows of his room, was an even paler figure standing in his doorway. His spark kicked and settled uncomfortably in his chest once he realized it was just Drift, and he watched in silence as the other came to stand at his bedside. "Drift?" His field was pulled in tight, but even Rodimus could make out the distress on his face. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Drift was looking less lost and more guilty. He kept looking around the room like he expected something to jump out at him. "Nothing. A weird dream, I guess."

In the depths of his sleep-addled mind and faced with a racer very much in need of some form of comfort, Rodimus could think of nothing to do but scoot back in his berth a bit more and pull back the covers. Drift stared at the open space of mattress, taken aback, but as the seconds ticked by his shoulders slumped and he leaned forward. It seemed to take an age for him to crawl onto the berth and shuffle under the covers, his pedes bumping against knees on the way down. While he squirmed in place, Rodimus settled back down, shuttering his optics gratefully. "Long day tomorrow," he mumbled, already slipping off into recharge, "so try to get some sleep."

Drift didn't need to respond to the half-conscious Prime, but he offered up a quiet thanks anyway. His berth had always been so cold, when he had one. His frame hadn't been healthy enough to moderate its own temperate, but that was far from a problem now. Even if it had been, the heat that seemed to naturally pour off Rodimus, even at rest, was seeping into the sheets and mattress and shared pillow, lulling his restless mind to rest.

Tomorrow and every day after it would come whether he was ready or not. Upon waking from his nightmare, this fact had burned into his brain module, feeding some secret worry that his introduction to Rodimus's life would somehow bring bad luck, or worse. Laying in the dark with a sleeping Prime at his side, the calmness of his energy field melding at the edges with Drift's own, the idea didn't seem so daunting anymore. In fact, it even sounded like it might be exciting, and as he drifted off to sleep, he thought everything might be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out to StarlightCaptivator who showed up at 3 AM to throw rocks at my window and scream 'MORE GROWING FLOWERS' until I wrote more.


End file.
